


In Blood, We Trust

by deirdre_c



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Jared owns a nightclub, Jensen don't dance, M/M, Not your typical vampire lore, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Vampires can be nice guys too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_c/pseuds/deirdre_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen catches his little sister going to <i>Trust</i>, an underground nightclub where people feed vampires voluntarily. He thinks she's crazy... who would want their blood sucked? But he can't help being drawn there himself, and the more he gets to know the owner, Jared, the more he thinks that a little trust isn't so crazy after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Blood, We Trust

Jensen kills the lights on his car and lets it coast into the parking lot. He’s just in time to catch sight of Mac and a friend slip through an unmarked door in a nondescript warehouse. He’s not sure what this place is, but it’s a pretty shady part of town for two college girls to be hanging out. 

Jensen’s only following them because his mom had called him earlier in the week, worried about Mackenzie and hoping he could ferret out whatever secrets were causing her grades to drop and her personality to change from ambitious and perky to listless and twitchy. Mom had whispered the word “drugs,” but when Jensen had taken Mac out to lunch on campus yesterday, he hadn’t gotten that vibe. Her melancholy seemed more ‘jilted lover’ to him, but when he pressed, she denied anything was wrong. However, there is definitely something going on with her, a mystery, and so now he’s easing his old reliable Ford Fusion into a parking spot between a Camero and an Escalade, wondering just what the hell this place is. 

He pockets his keys and approaches the door the girls went through, looking for any clue to what’s inside. Faced with gray metal blankness, Jensen shrugs and opens it. 

He enters into a small, dimly-lit foyer of what he thinks must be some kind of club. He can hear the drub of bass through the walls, and there’s two strange-looking guys situated behind an entry desk in front of a much fancier, oak-and-brushed nickel door. One of them’s a little dude, pale and nerdy with droopy, bloodhound-eyes. The other could not be more different. He’s probably the most massive man Jensen has ever seen, gotta be almost seven feet with a chest like a tank and arms like tree trunks. He’s one hell of a bouncer, if Jensen’s reading this right.

Jensen steps forward like he knows what he’s doing. 

“Welcome to _Trust_. You’re new,” barks the little guy, looking Jensen up and down. “You got an invitation?”

Damn, he’s gonna get shut down before he even gets in the door. But his gaze doesn’t waiver. He’s got to see how far bullshit can take him. “Mackenzie Ackles invited me. She just walked in here a few minutes ago.”

The doorman tilts his head like he’s reading Jensen sideways, and his nostrils flare. “Oh,” he gives a small smirk. “They’re going to love you.” 

Jensen can’t decide if that’s a good sign or not. 

“Are you here to party or are you just watching tonight?” the guy continues.

Oh, that’s _definitely_ not a good sign. Could this be some kind of sex club? Something else? Something worse? Jensen already felt out of his league—always has been more comfortable at home with Netflix than checking out the urban nightlife—and this feels like jumping straight into the abyss. He contemplates his answer for a split second, then opts for caution. “Watching.” 

“Good choice for a first-timer.” The doorman opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a small piece of red paper, some kind of sticker apparently, because he peels it from the backing and leans in toward Jensen, smacking it onto his neck under his ear. 

“Hey!” Jensen protests, reaching up.

“Leave it,” says the guy, swatting his hand away. “It’s just a marker, a signal. Let’s folks know that you’re off-limits for tonight. You change your mind once inside? Take it off then.” He backs off, turns toward the inner door, holds it open and sweeps his hand with a mocking bow to usher Jensen inside.

Jensen stares him down for a second, the little jerk, but he wants in, so he plays along. What the fuck has Mackenzie gotten herself into? 

“Cover charge?”

“Not for you,” the guy replies, that little smile still playing along his lips.

Jensen rolls his shoulders, the stupid, quarter-sized sticker pulling at his skin like a burn. Then he simply nods and walks inside.

It turns out it’s a nightclub all right, but way more upscale than he’d expected. It’s not some dark, skanky cave. Quite the opposite. The lighting is soft, but there’s plenty of it, artfully haphazard amber- and pink-hued pools showing clusters of high top tables ringing a crowded dance floor. There are individuals and groups milling around the perimeter, and clumps of dancers on the floor are bobbing around to some old 80’s Madonna song, everyone grinning, laughing, flirting. There’re couples discreetly hooking up in the more shadowy corners, but none of the explicit public BDSM gear or overt activities Jensen had imagined, no one shooting up or taking hits of coke off the bar like he’d feared. 

There is a bar, a huge one, lining one full wall of the club, a handful of bartenders working the clientele lined up for drinks. Jensen slips onto the nearest leather-padded stool and grabs a $20 from his wallet, needing to get his bearings before scouting the place out further. He scans the crowd for Mac or her girlfriend, but there’s no sign of them.

“I’m Chris. What can I get ya?” This bartender’s no taller than the host at the door, but he looks like he could seriously kick someone’s ass in a fight, long hair tied back in a ponytail, no-nonsense gleam in his eye. 

“Jensen. And beer’s good,” he says, sliding his bill across the slick wooden bartop. But before he can engage Chris any further, someone’s got a hand on his arm and he finds a gorgeous redhead suddenly pressed up against him. 

“Why hello, sugar,” she murmurs, licking her lips as she rakes her gaze over him. “My name’s Alaina and you’re all mine tonight.” But as he turns to face her, she catches sight of the red patch on his neck and practically leaps backwards. 

“Sorry,” Jensen says, even though he’s pretty sure he didn’t do anything but sit here. She regains her composure and spins on one very high heel to stalk away without another word. Before the bartender can get back with his beer, two other people, first another girl then a guy, each try to pick him up before catching sight of his little “hands-off” sticker and turning away disappointed.

 _What the hell?_ Jensen’s no stranger to getting hit on at bars, on the rare occasion he gets dragged out by co-workers, but three in the first three minutes of arrival? That’s just weird.

Finally, the bartender pops up again. “Your first time here, huh? Well, you shouldn’t be surprised if you get a lot more of that tonight. Fresh blood and all.”

Jensen just shrugs, turning back to the crowd to look for Mac. She was wearing a black dress, but then, so are two-thirds of the women here, so that’s not helpful. There’s two dozen or so blondes, too, which makes trying to pick her out like a needle in a bouncing and grinding haystack. What does catch Jensen’s eye though, is the gorgeous guy in the middle of the floor, his head thrown back as he laughs. He’s several inches taller than anyone else around with dark, longish hair, not long like Chris’s, but long enough to brush the line of his jaw as he runs a hand through it, tossing it back off his face. That face, wow. High cheekbones and wide grin and tip-tilt eyes. 

Jensen watches as he works the crowd on the dance floor, moving from cluster to cluster, twirling a girl by the arm, swinging another into a silly, overly-dramatic dip. Some guy shimmies up and snugs arms around the guy’s waist, and they move together to the beat of the music for a few moments before breaking apart. Then he moves on. A hand on someone’s shoulder, a friendly kiss on the top of a short girl’s head. Jensen doesn’t like to dance, never has, and yet he feels the strangest temptation to venture out into the throng, just for the chance to get closer. 

A body blocks his view. “Hey, handsome,” the nuisance starts in, and by the time Jensen can brush him off, he’s lost track of the hot guy on the dance floor.

Then suddenly Hot Guy is next to Jensen at the bar, even bigger up close than he seemed before. He’s got on a ridiculous hot-pink t-shirt with what appears to be a unicorn vomiting a rainbow on the front, but it stretches across his chest in a way that leaves no doubt how perfectly built he is.

He glances at Jensen, then double-takes. Strangely, he’s the first person tonight to look pleased at the red marker Jensen’s wearing on his neck. Then he blushes, like he’s embarrassed to be caught staring and turns away to catch Chris’s eye. Blushing, for fuck’s sake. It’s Jensen’s silver bullet.

He tilts his head to indicate Jensen. “What he’s having.” 

Chris slides the guy a beer and he takes a swig before peeking back at Jensen over the lip. “First time?” 

How the hell does everyone instantly know that? “Be gentle,” Jensen wisecracks. 

“Oh, wow. That was awful wasn’t it? I mean, as an opening line. Not that I’m feeding you a line or anything like that, just trying to make conversation. Not—not something else.” He quickly takes another long swig, like he’s trying to shut himself up. 

Jensen feels the urge to wrap him in a soft blanket and feed him cookies, but in maybe a sexy way. Like naked. With cookies. It’s confusing. “Okay thanks for clearing that up. I was worried for a second there.”

“Hey,” Hot Guy says innocently, holding out an open palm. “Anyone can tell you, there’s nowhere in the club you’re safer than with me. I’m definitely the most harmless guy here.”

“Harmless? Is that right?” Jensen says, raising an eyebrow. Man, he really wishes he wasn’t here on a mission for Mackenzie, because there’s nothing he wants more than to flirt a little more, see if this could go somewhere. He doesn’t run into guys like this every day. Or every year. Being a loner has its downsides.

“Promise,” the guy replies, oddly serious for a second. But then he grins, and, oh god, there are dimples. And this little beauty mark beside his nose, and even his _teeth_ are charming. “You having fun?”

“Not really here to have fun.” He drinks in the sight of the guy’s lips wrapped around the bottle as he takes another long sip. Then he pulls himself together, drags his attention away from the eyeful next to him and looks back out at the crowd. “Just keeping track of my little sister.”

“Well, you could come out and dance? She might be somewhere on the floor.” 

They’re playing old-school Jackson 5 now, and this goofball offers a dumb little moonwalk with an off-balance spin for flourish, all gawky arms and legs and not an ounce of shame. And when Jensen allows a laugh to sneak out, he looks like Jensen just handed him a winning lottery ticket. 

Maybe on a different night, maybe with a little more liquid courage, he’d have the audacity to grab the guy’s shirt and pull him in for a kiss. His fingers itch with the desire to touch, his lips ache for a taste of that mouth. He’s not sure why, but this complete stranger is pushing every one of his buttons. But it’s the wrong place at the wrong time. “I’ll have to pass. Not much of a dancer, either.”

“Fair enough.” Mr. Right smiles once more, sweetly, and tips his beer toward Jensen in a toast. He downs the rest and sets the empty on the bar. And despite being annoyed by all those earlier propositions, Jensen’s disappointed that this guy doesn’t press further. As he heads back into the milling crowd, Jensen’s eyes follow him, because _damn_ that’s a nice view, too.

“Oh, man,” Chris comes behind him, chuckling. “There’s no point in setting your sights on Jared. He’s not a drinker.” 

Jensen turns on his stool, elbows on the bar. “What are you talking about? You just served him a beer, right?”

“No, I mean blood. Never met a vamp who didn’t, but there you go. He’s an odd one.” 

Jensen leans in, confused. He must have misheard. Chris can’t have said… what Jensen thought he said. He tilts his head. “I’m sorry, come again?” 

Chris’s eyes narrow, and his gaze flickers down at the sticker on Jensen’s neck and back up to his bewildered expression. “Fucking Christ, how did you even get in here?” he growls. He reaches across the bar to grab Jensen’s wrist. “Don’t you know what this place is? It’s a gathering place for humans and the Kindred. A safe-zone.” He sees Jensen’s blank stare and grips tighter. “Man, this is a bar where humans come to meet vampires. To let them drink blood and get off on it. To _feed_ them. Willingly.” He jerks his chin toward the closest wall. “Look over there.” 

Jensen peers again through the sea of bodies and soft light into the shadows around the dance floor. He hadn’t wanted to stare outright before, like a pervert, at the couples pressed together, some writhing provocatively. But now he looks, sees. Some couples are just messing around, others appear to be outright fucking, right there against the wall. But with every pair, one has his or her head thrown back, the other is suckling at their neck. There’s a man in a woman’s embrace, her face pressed against his throat. She pulls back to lick at him and, there in the dimness, Jensen can see the dark, glistening stain around her mouth. It’s insane. It can’t be. But now that he sees it, it’s manifest. 

Jensen turns back, his head spinning. He yanks his hand out of Chris’s grip. “And you? I guess you’re a—a vampire too?” The word is almost too ridiculous to pronounce.

“Nah,” Chris says calmly. “Me, and the rest of the staff. We’re Were.”

“You’re what?” 

“No, _Were_.” Chris smirks. Jensen wants to punch him. He wants to shout, to force him to take it back, to admit it’s a lie. But he’s too preoccupied with freaking the fuck out, glancing back at those silhouettes in the shadows, wondering if Mac is one of them, for Christ’s sake. 

Chris takes pity and pours him a shot of something strong. 

Jensen knocks the booze back as fast as he can. He glances toward the other two bartenders, a guy with a beard and a red-headed girl working farther down the bar. Both seem to be perfectly normal people. “Were,” he croaks back at Chris. “You mean werewolves?”

“Yep. Three days out of the month. Full moon. Fangs and fur. The whole nine yards,” he replies, matter-of-fact. “Traditionally, Werefolk and the Kindred don’t get along so well.” He huffs an unamused laugh. “But Jared got it in his little Pollyanna head that putting us on the payroll was a good idea. Trying to promote goodwill and foster relations between species, or at least that’s what he said.”

“Jared?” Jensen says, trying to keep up and failing miserably.

“Yeah, you know.” He gestures in the direction of the dance floor. “Your little crush-at-first sight? He’s the owner of this joint, it was his idea to have everyone play nice together. Anyway, we help with stuff he needs done during the daylight hours, when vamps can’t get around so well; he looks out for us on the couple days every month that we’re out of our minds, keeps us on lock-down. And the humans, well, you guys just come and hang out for fun.” 

Jensen shakes his head, hoping to knock something loose. “Jesus. I’m still trying to process the whole ‘vampires exist’ thing. Because at the moment I’m 99% sure you’re just fucking with me, and that these are just a bunch of kinky-ass people with a blood fetish and some fake teeth.”

“Stick around, son. You’ll figure it out. Just keep that nice little stop sign on your neck while you’re doing it, okay? That’s pretty much all that’s keeping someone from showing you up-close-and-personal how real those teeth are.” 

“Fuck,” Jensen breathes, placing a palm over the sticker to make sure it’s still there. 

“Yeah,” Chris smirks again, but then his face goes stone still as he looks out over Jensen’s shoulder. “Oh shit.” Quicker than a cat, he launches himself over the bar and takes off for the far side of the club. On impulse, Jensen shoves off his stool and rushes after him. People are forming in a knot at a far corner of the dance floor, and they head for it. From the other direction, he glimpses Jared plowing through the crowd, too.

There’s a shout. Someone out of the mass of bodies grabs him, clutches at him, crying his name. Thank god, it’s Mac. 

“Jensen, god, Jensen! What are you—She wouldn’t let go. Katherine passed out, but she still wouldn’t stop.” Jensen automatically reels her in closer as she tugs him toward the front of the crowd. Now that he found her, he’s not letting her out of sight. “Oh god, she was going to kill Katherine.” 

Chris and some of the other staff start clearing a space, holding back people who seem to be either gawking or looking to egg on a fight. The music cuts off mid-song, and the milling and murmuring settles down into a pregnant hush, punctuated only by Mac’s continued hiccupping sobs. In the center of an open ring that has formed two figures are facing off: a woman Jensen doesn’t recognize, and Jared.

Jared’s standing over a figure sprawled unconscious on the floor at his feet, and Jensen sees that it’s Mac’s friend. He’s standing over her protectively, one hand extended toward the dark-haired woman across from them. 

She glares at Jared, trembling, frozen in place. Jared glares back. 

The self-effacing cutie that Jensen exchanged quips with over by the bar is gone. In his place is a fierce predator. With his shoulders thrown back, he looks eight feet tall, and the look on his face makes Jensen want to turn and run. And it’s then he sees Jared’s eyes. They’re no longer hazel and twinkling. Now they’re this solid yellow color, vivid and other-worldly. It’s like they’re lit from within, fathomless and hot like molten gold, like the sun at mid-day. 

Jensen glances across the circle. The woman’s eyes are bright gold, too. And all of the doubts Jensen’s been clinging to that Chris’s story was a hoax, they shred and fall away.

Jared starts to speak and it’s almost as if he’d been waiting for the crowd to quiet, so that everyone could witness. “There’s a two year ban from _Trust_ for attempting to drain a human, Athena,” he tells the woman. “You know that.” He glances around at the crowd at large, raising his voice. “No one who hurts or hunts humans is welcome here. This is not a slaughterhouse, and it’s not a diner. Humans and Kindred are equals. Blood here is exchanged freely or not at all, so don’t come if you aren’t willing to play by the rules.” Then he turns back toward his adversary and growls, “Now get out of my club.” 

He drops his out-stretched hand and the woman cries out, jerking like she’s been released from an invisible grip. The giant bouncer Jensen encountered at the club’s entrance lumbers forward and puts a meaty hand around her arm, practically lifting her off her feet to escort her out. 

As if their movements released a spell, the onlookers begin to stir and chatter. Mac pushes out of Jensen’s protective embrace to crouch down next to her friend, who’s showing signs of returning consciousness. Jared crouches down as well, and together they help her to sit up. Jensen can see the girl’s neck is still seeping blood from two unmistakable puncture wounds. He watches in fascinated horror as Jared licks his thumb and rubs it over the skin of her neck. In a matter of seconds, the cuts start to heal and disappear. 

Jared looks up at Jensen. His eyes have returned to normal, and his expression’s apologetic, anxious. It seems like he expects Jensen to castigate him, to bust his chops, as if Jensen can utter a single word after all —that. 

After a moment, Jared simply says quietly, “You better take her home.” Then he rises to his feet and slips away into the crowd.

***

Jensen wants to go to the hospital, but Katherine, with Mac’s support, insists on going back to her apartment. He reluctantly agrees and by the time they drive to her apartment complex, Katherine’s recovered enough to hop out of the car and rush inside. Jensen and Mac follow her. Mac heads to the bedroom to make sure Katherine’s truly going to be okay, while Jensen searches the kitchen for something liquid and strong.

He grabs three glasses and a bottle of vodka and plops down on the couch. He wants to try to make sense of tonight, bring his worldview back into proper alignment, but it’s like there’s a thick film settled over his brain. Maybe shock? Maybe denial? Whatever it is, he’s still sitting there calmly when Mac comes back out to the living room.

“She’s asleep,” she says, grabbing the bottle and pouring herself a generous portion. 

“So are you going to tell me what the hell that was?”

She stares down into her glass for a minute, then says, “I met Adrianne at the main campus library. It’s open twenty-four hours and she works there in the Archives. At night.” She huffs a wry laugh. “Anyway, she’s tall and beautiful and after a few weeks, after we got to know each other, she told me she was a vampire. ‘Kindred’ they call themselves.”

Jensen nods, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t believe her, of course, so she invited me to this club she knew. I convinced Katherine to go with me. That was about two months ago.”

“And you let them drink from you?” he tries his best to keep it neutral, not judgmental, despite his skin crawling at the thought. 

“Jensen, you have no idea how good it feels. It’s like… like the best drug, the best sex, I can’t even describe it. It takes you so high, makes you feel like you’re worshipped, cherished.”

“Like Katherine was tonight?” Jensen replies sardonically.

“No,” Mac admits. “That was messed up.” She takes another gulp of booze.

“And you do this every night?”

“Not every night. The doorman won’t let us in that often. Says humans have to take breaks to make sure we don’t get overly-drained.” She rubs her eyes tiredly. “But we go a lot. Probably more than we should.”

“Probably? Probably?” Jensen replies, his voice rising. “Your friend almost died. You could have been killed! Mac… Jesus, it sounds crazy, but we’re talking about _vampires_ here.”

“I know, I know. Don’t you think I freaked when I found out, too?”

“You have to promise me you’re never going back there. That you won’t set foot within a thousand yards of that place ever again.”

“Jensen—“ 

“No, I’m fucking serious. Mom sent me to find you tonight because she was worried about you. Because you haven’t been acting like yourself. Can’t you see this isn’t healthy? That it’s malicious?”

“Don’t pretend like you understand it, Jensen, because you don’t,” she says firmly, then holds up a hand when he draws breath to argue further. “But I agree that I need to stop, at least for awhile. Katherine and I both need to take a break, so we can think about this more clearly.”

“Okay,” he says. “But you’ll call me before you decide you want to return. That’s not a request.”

“Fine,” she agrees. “Now go home.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to sleep it off here on the couch, then go to class tomorrow. Like a good little girl.” She leans over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be okay, promise. Thanks for being worried about me, bro.”

“’Worried’ doesn’t even cover it,” he tells her. Then he stands up and heads for home, more rattled by what happened than ever. He trusts her to keep her word, but that doesn’t stop him from tossing and turning in his own bed all night.

***

He finds himself back at that warehouse door the next night, wrenching it open a little too hard out of pique.

Despite his orders to Mac to stay away, the urge to confirm what he saw was too strong to resist. He needs to understand, he needs evidence it wasn’t all just some kind of hallucination or fever dream. All day he’s been unsettled and shaky—and a little bit scared, if he’s quite honest—and it’s combined to piss him right off. 

He thought about calling the cops, getting them to shut the place down, but what would he tell them? That he wanted to file a complaint about bloodsucking undead? Well, if he can’t stop what they’re doing, at least he can confront them. Plus, he needs to prove to himself that he can take this in stride, the legitimate presence of supernatural things in the world. Then he can get on with his life.

There’s a line at the inner door this time, other patrons waiting to get in. A few are turned away, another group heads inside, and then it’s Jensen’s turn. The same little guy sits guarding the gate, looking as mild as milk when Jensen steps up. The same big guy looms behind him.

“So you’re back,” the doorman comments.

“Why didn’t you give me some kind of warning last night?” Jensen snaps. He probably should be more diplomatic if he wants admission, but he can’t find a fucking ounce of diplomacy in him.

“Not in my job description,” he drawls. “Besides, a guy’s gotta have a little innocent fun where he can find it.” 

“You’re an ass. There’s nothing innocent about this place.”

“And yet here you are, waiting to get in.” He holds up a sticker just like the one Jensen had worn last night. “You still need one of these?”

“Yes, dammit,” Jensen says, snatching it out of the host’s hand and applying it himself. He stomps past, pretty certain now that his antagonism isn’t going to get him tossed. He feels like he’s getting some kind of free pass, and that irks him even more. 

“Have a good time,” he hears the guy call from behind. 

“I won’t,” Jensen says under his breath. 

Inside the party is going full steam, the dance floor full and the music pumping some bouncy hip hop standard Jensen recalls from the handful of college keg parties he attended. A trio of girls walk by him, giggling, and a cheer goes up from another group at the bar watching football overhead on a muted TV. He stops, midstride, to take it all in. People are having fun; he can’t spot a single person that is overtly being harassed or coerced. It’s such a disconnect from the den of sin and depravity that Jensen had built up in his mind over the past 24 hours that his anger’s knocked back on its heels.

Chris waves at him from where he’s hustling to serve drinks and calls out, “You’re back!”

Jensen wanders over and takes the same seat as the night before. He’d pictured himself ripping into anyone and everyone associated with this place. But all he says finally is, “I guess I am.” 

“I wasn’t sure you would be,” Chris says amiably. “That was a hell of a first impression we gave.” 

“Sure was.” How can he be so calm about this? How can he just stroll in and start chatting with someone who claims he’s a werewolf? How can he be checking out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch a glimpse of a guy who’s tall, dark, handsome and _not human_? Driving here tonight, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but he didn’t anticipate that it would feel this… normal.

“How’s your sister? Her friend?”

“Okay, I guess,” says Jensen. “Don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Chris replies. “I’m sorry they had to get mixed up with one of them.”

“Them, who?” 

“The ones trying to sabotage Jared. The vamps who don’t want to see humans get treated with respect or concern. Who think that Jared’s a fool and a danger to traditional Kindred ways. Now, since my kind are at the bottom of the totem pole either way, I normally wouldn’t care, but Jared’s throwing us a bone too.” He grins with a tilt of his head to acknowledge the joke. “So as far as I’m concerned, his enemies are my enemies.” He pulls a beer out of the cooler and slides it to Jensen. “And his friends my friends.”

 _Oh great,_ Jensen thinks. _So not only are there vampires there are vampire_ factions.

Chris must’ve felt like he made his point, because he wanders away to tend to other patrons, and Jensen sits nursing his beer, searching for his righteous indignation. 

People still won’t leave him alone. Three more vampires—at least he figures that’s what they are, because why would a human bother with him here?—approach him with offers of a good time before they discover he’s off-limits. It makes him appreciate the sticker system, even as it makes him wonder exactly what it would be like to take it off. He glances furtively over at those disconcerting couples not-quite-hidden in the nightclub’s dark corners. What did Mac call it? Worship? 

Just then, Jared comes bouncing up. Same cheeks flushed from dancing, same hair flowing like some hero from a romance novel. Jensen’s pulse kicks up a notch, but it sure doesn’t feel like anger or fear. 

“You’re back!” 

“Monsters of the night,” Jensen deadpans, “you’re all masters of keen observation.”

Jared’s jaw practically drops at Jensen’s words, probably not what he was expecting, but then he bursts out laughing. “I heard from Chris all this came as a surprise to you. The whole, you know, ‘monsters’ thing. I’m really glad it didn’t keep you away.” He keeps smiling in a way that sends butterflies tumbling in Jensen’s stomach… and makes him reflect on all those legends about the whammy vampires put on humans in order to lure them to their doom. 

“I only came back because I couldn’t get my head around what I saw last night.” Jensen recalls Chris telling him that Jared doesn’t drink blood, but Jensen wants to make clear he’s not here for that, whatever Mac and her friend and the others are into. Just the thought of it—the shallow vein in his neck, the way blood would pump from a wound, thick and red—makes him queasy. 

“I can imagine it was a pretty big shock,” Jared replies sympathetically. 

“I mean, what is this place anyway? Why are you all here? Why do you do this?”

“You mean the club? It’s kind of an experiment, honestly. I wanted to see if I could help stop some of the violence. The thing most humans don’t understand about Kindred is that we don’t need to drink blood for itself, we just need the lifeforce that’s _carried_ in the blood. And intense human emotion makes that lifeforce stronger. So you know, fear, surprise, pain.” He glances away with a look of chagrin. “That’s why many Kindred will attack unwilling humans: they think it makes feeding better.” 

Jensen shudders. “Okay, maybe I didn’t want to know this.”

“But listen,” Jared goes on, and now his eyes are wide with enthusiasm. “What if we turned that around? What about joy, or arousal? I figure, if humans can actually enjoy feeding as much as Kindred, why not work with that? That’s what _Trust_ is all about: dancing, flirting, having a good time. A really good time.” Jared waggles his eyebrows. 

Jensen shakes his head incredulously. “So basically you’re the big blue guy from _Monsters Inc._ who wants to gather up laughter instead of screams? 

“Um, what?” It’s Jared turn to look perplexed.

“It’s from a cartoon,” Jensen replies. “C’mon, you’re telling me you’re immortal and you haven’t found time to watch all the Disney movies yet?”

“Well—not that you’ll accept it’s an excuse for my woeful ignorance of animated film—but Kindred aren’t actually immortal. We just don’t age the same way we used to when we were human. Now it’s more like… like a battery. We get recharged so many times—” he slowly raises his hand and then swoops it down like it’s riding the hill of a rollercoaster”—until finally we just wear out. You never really know how long you’ve got. I think that’s why so many of us can be, well, cruel. Or maybe a better word is selfish.” He glances around. “But maybe this place can help change how that impacts humans.”

This is absolutely the most bizarre conversation Jensen’s ever been involved in. He should be sprinting out the door as fast as his legs can carry him. He should be planning a way to burn the place down. But instead, he’s actually enjoying himself. Interesting people are strolling by, another fun old-school song is playing, at some point the red-headed bartender brought both of them new beers. He can’t remember the last time he actually enjoyed going out to a nightclub. But then again, he’s sure as hell never been to a club like this.

And he’s never met someone like Jared, either. “So how old are you? When were you, what’s the right phrase? Turned?”

Jared gives him a crooked smile. “We don’t really ask about that.” He takes a sip of beer. “Not tactful.”

“Oh sorry.”

“No, that’s cool. I don’t mind talking about it with _you_.”

Jensen feels a little ping of warmth at that. Apparently he likes being a special exception. 

“I was an American soldier in Vietnam. Left for dead with a couple bullets in my chest during an ambush. The Kindred love intense emotion, right? Well, battlefields are a veritable buffet.” He sips his beer. “I’ve had a lot of time to think it over, but I still have no idea why she chose to take me through the transition rather than just sucking me dry like any other feed, but…”

He lets the story trail off and Jensen gets that blankie feeling again, but this time without the cookies. Just a pure desire to wipe the painful remembrance from Jared’s face. “Sorry I brought it up. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s alright. Was a long time ago.”

“Okay. But, I have to say,” Jensen says to lighten the mood, “You’re looking pretty good for 65.” 

Jared ducks his head and comes up smiling again. “Ah, thanks. You’re pretty fine yourself, you know.”

Jensen snorts. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking about how appetizing I am with a vampire.”

“Hey!” Jared says, mock-offended. “I already told you that you’re safe with me.”

And the weird thing is, he feels like it’s true. “Hey, the bartender mentioned something about that, too,” Jensen says. “What did he mean, that you don’t drink blood? How does that even work with the lifeforce thingy-ma-gig?”

“It goes back to the time right after I was made Kindred. I, um, I went a little insane, I think. I couldn’t bring myself to feed, I hated it. I would starve myself into a frenzy, and then I couldn’t control myself. I’d hurt humans, I’ll admit I even killed one.” He looks away, dragging a hand through his hair, then hurries on. “But fortunately after wandering for awhile, years actually, I came upon a group of other Kindred. In India, if that’s not a cliché, I don’t know what is. Anyway, they had developed a technique, trained themselves to absorb humans’ lifeforce by touch alone, rather than through ingesting their blood. I stayed to learn how. Took a long time, but I figured it out. However, most Kindred wouldn’t bother with it, even if they knew about it. It’s a way more strenuous method of survival, and less efficient. Less, um, pleasurable too.” 

Jared sees him catch the quick glance down at Jensen’s neck, and his cheeks bloom a sweet pink. Damn, he runs what’s basically a sex-for-blood establishment but still feels self-conscious about checking out a potential client.

“So what you’re telling me,” Jensen says, ignoring the look, “is that you’re a psychic vampire instead? Like a vegetarian, but no eating humans?”

Jared grins. “I guess you could put it that way.”

“Are you feeding off me right now?” Jensen leans away slightly. He may be suddenly uncertain about a lot of things regarding _Trust_ , but not that. 

“No!” Jared assures him swiftly. “No, I consider the sticker on your neck applies to me, just like everyone else. If I don’t follow the club rules, who will?” He shrugs. “Besides, I have to be touching someone for the transfer to work.” 

Jensen recalls Jared moving across the dance floor, the way he’d randomly grip a shoulder or give a hug around the waist. _Guess he’s not just handsy after all,_ Jensen thinks. 

“Speaking of which, I should probably head back out there.” Jared nods ruefully toward the crowd. “But are you—do you plan to stick around? Or have I scared you off with, um, all this?”

“I’m not scared. Questioning my sanity perhaps, but not scared.” 

“Okay. Okay, good. Tell Danneel the next beer’s on me!” Jared calls, walking away backward so that he’s staring at Jensen the whole way, giving a little goodbye wave as he’s swallowed up by the dancers at the edge of the floor. 

Jensen turns to rest his elbows on the bar and lets his head fall into his hands. Definitely questioning his sanity.

***

Strangely enough, the next hour or so flies by as he chats with Danneel and Chris and the other bartender, Jason. Unlike Jared, few vampires stay to talk once they discover Jensen’s not serving up any meals, but a couple of humans strike up conversation. He thought he’d be trying to convince every person he came across that intimate encounters, as such, with the non-human patrons are a bad idea. But now that he’s here, angry evangelizing against it seems somehow… rude. Because everyone Jensen meets just seems pretty laid back and cool.

That is, until he gets up to find the men’s room. 

He spots a discreet sign that directs him down a long hall, much darker than the rest of the club. It’s wide enough not to feel claustrophobic, but it’s also dotted with couples doing their thing. It’s the closest Jensen’s been to the act of feeding—the muffled moans and whispers and other wet, unidentified noises—and he has to steel himself to keep walking steadily straight through the gauntlet. 

He’s concentrating so hard on his goal of the little door at the hall’s end that he doesn’t see the hand that snakes out and grabs him, spinning him around to pin him up against the wall with an arm across his chest and a hand at his throat, one thumb pressed threateningly into the hollow of his jaw.

The vampire is dark-skinned, dark-eyed, and the smile that breaks over his face at the feeling of Jensen’s pulse rabbiting in his grip is terrifying. It’s exactly the nightmare he imagined it would be.

“Hello, beauty,” he says in a low voice, almost a purr. “Ready for a little playtime?” 

Jensen tries to jerk away, but the hold on him is so unyielding he might as well be trying to break down the solid wall at his back. “Don’t,” he grinds out. “Back off. I’m not interested. Look, I’m wearing a damn sticker.”

“Are you now? Well, I think you’ll find it slipped off accidentally.” And Jensen can feel that thumb move to catch the sticker’s edge where it’s stuck to his skin, starting to peel it off. And an icy rush of horror sweeps through him as—fuck, oh _fuck_ —two of the vampire’s teeth slowly elongate and sharpen to needle-like points. Instinctively, Jensen bucks like a rodeo bull, thrashing, he’s got to get away, no, fuck. 

The vampire leans inexorably in.

Without warning, Jensen’s attacker is yanked away. Jared’s there, behind him, wrenching the arm that had been pinning Jensen up high behind the guy’s back, bouncing his face against the wall with a sickening thump. The other vampire swears, tries to swing around, clipping Jared in the face with his elbow, struggling until Jared murmurs, “Hold, Sterling.” And they both go still.

Jensen feels a thrill slalom down his spine not so unlike the one when he was first seized. But this time it isn’t fear, it’s something new entirely, something summoned by Jared’s soft commandment. Jensen doesn’t need to look to know, but he does anyway. Looks at Jared’s eyes to see them burning a sear amber, the color of fresh flame.

Jared presses in, his lips nearly touching the other vampire’s ear. Jensen’s barely close enough to hear what he says. “I don’t know if you’re operating as one of Worthy’s minions, or if you’re just a regular asshole all on your own, but hear me. This club is a safe space, and it will stay that way as long as I’m around. You won’t come back, Sterling, and you won’t harm any of the humans who frequent here, particularly this human.” He nods towards Jensen, and it’s as if a spotlight brushes across him, the abrupt brightness of Jared’s attention, there and gone.

The vampire, Sterling, sneers, but nods his head. And when Jared steps back, releasing him, he turns and strides down the hall toward the nightclub proper without a backward glance.

They watch together until he turns the corner and disappears. Jensen finds himself trembling all over and he’s about two seconds away from heaving up everything in his stomach. Jared’s apparently not in much better shape, because once Sterling is out of sight, he sinks back against the wall, crumpling in on himself with a weary sigh. Jensen’s tempted to put a supportive hand on his shoulder, but that seems somewhat dangerous at the moment.

“You okay?” Jared asks him huskily.

“Nearly pissed myself—” Jensen replies, “—but otherwise, alright. You?”

“I’ve been better.” Jared slowly raises a hand to rub his face. “Takes a lot out of me to do that. Sterling’s much stronger than some of the others.”

“What did you do to him? And to that other, that other Kindred—” Jensen stumbles a bit over the term, “—who drained Mac’s friend last night?” 

“I laid a geas on them. A command they can’t disobey.”

Jensen’s not sure what to say to that, so he puts his back to the wall and leans there next to Jared in silence. Eventually, though, he has to say it. “That’s pretty fucking badass.”

Jared huffs a laugh, but it comes out weak. Not sunny and bountiful like Jensen’s already become accustomed to. 

A thought occurs to him, and he swallows down a barbed-wire knot of reservation before reaching out his hand toward Jared. “Your battery is running low, right? Why don’t you take some energy from me.”

Jared turns his head to look at Jensen, and the surprise written across his face is priceless. “What? No. You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. You were watching out for me, you saved me from—from what was about to happen.” He clenches his jaw to keep from showing any residual stress remembering that moment before Jared swooped to the rescue, that moment Sterling’s lips brushed the thin skin under his ear. And if his palms are still clammy, at least the hand he holds extended toward Jared is steady. 

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“It’s not about owing. It’s about helping.” Jensen gestures insistently, willing Jared to take him up on his offer before he loses his nerve.

Jared locks eyes with him as he slowly scrubs both hands up and down his jean-clad thighs. Then he reaches out and claps Jensen’s hand in his. 

Jensen doesn’t feel anything. That is, Jared’s skin is warm and his hand is huge, practically engulfing Jensen’s in its careful grip in a way Jensen might find intriguing under different circumstances. But there’s no jolt of pain, no feeling of being drained or exhausted from whatever energy Jared is drawing from him. It feels like a regular handshake, just drawn out, nothing more.

But at the same time, there’s a definite change in Jared. Lines of strain around his eyes smooth out and the slumped curve of his spine straightens. It’s subtle, but to Jensen it seems almost like watching a balloon slowly filling up with helium. Amusement plays at the corners of Jared’s mouth as he finally releases Jensen’s hand with a tiny squeeze. 

“Thanks,” he says simply.

“You’re welcome.” And Jensen’s torn between getting the hell out of this murky, ill-fated hallway and escaping back out into the familiar bustle of the club, but at the same time not wanting to quit whatever this is, this moment he’s having with Jared.

He opts to stay. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course,” Jared says.

“Does this kind of thing happen _every_ night? Because I can probably get used to getting hit on constantly, but I’m not sure I can live with the whole jumped-in-dark-corners situation.”

“This isn’t how it usually is here. Not at all. It’s just, well, on the one hand, there’s always some trouble with a few Kindred. The ones who don’t like that _Trust_ won’t allow them to just take what they want. Like Sterling, I think. But then there’s also a group who are actively trying to sabotage the club itself. They say it’s too dangerous, gathering Kindred all together out in the relative open like this. Or that it undermines their vision of the natural order, with Kindred as masters and humans as cattle.” Jared rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve been able to make them toe the line so far, with the help of most of the other Kindred patrons. Typically they’re just a pain in my ass, not everyone else’s.”

“Okay, then,” Jensen nods. 

“As for you getting hit on… see the thing is, people can sense, um, that you haven’t, haven’t, um—“ Jared kind of waves vaguely at his neck.

“Donated blood before?” Jensen says dryly.

“Right,” Jared replies. “And some Kindred, not everyone, but some, think the first taste of a human’s blood is particularly… invigorating.” His lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. “Think of it this way: Kindred look at you sitting at the bar and you’re like a 5-hour energy drink on a shelf full of bottled water.” 

Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hello. Not a beverage here. A person.” 

“It’s a simile, jerk.”

Jensen sighs. “So what you’re saying is, I’ve got ‘virgin’ written across my forehead and everyone’s lining up to pop my cherry?”

The grin Jared was holding back finally breaks free. “Afraid so.” But then his expression turns a bit more uncertain. “There might be a way I can give you some protection. I mean, more than just the club’s sticker system.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I can put a mark on you. This one’s invisible, only other Kindred can sense it. Some Kindred use it to identify significant others or—” he stumbles a bit, “—or simply to signal that the human has a protector. It would convince people that you’re already spoken for. I mean, just to keep them off your back.”

“What, this mark you’d put on me? It’s like staking some kind of claim?”

“No! Well, yes. Sort of.” Jared presses his lips into a narrow line, his brow furrowed. “But, you know, you could just take the sticker off and go out there,” he jabs a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the dance floor, “and find someone to pair up with. Have a good time. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about the ‘fresh blood’ thing anymore. Any Kindred you chose would make you feel fantastic. I mean, that’s why humans like you come here in the first place, right? To feel good?” 

“That’s not what I came here for,” Jensen snaps. He thinks about Sterling pushing him up against the wall. About Katherine lying passed out on the ground at Jared’s feet. “I’m not getting bit voluntarily. No fucking way.” He shoves out his hand once again toward Jared. “Mark me up.”

Jared’s brow clears and he quickly reaches out for Jensen’s hand. 

“How does this work anyway?” Jensen asks. Probably should have established that before he leaped at the offer.

“It’s an ancient ritual,” Jared replies solemnly. “One that takes a great deal of concentration.” He turns Jensen’s hand so that it’s palm-up and presses his finger to it, drawing a series of symbols. “Circle circle. Dot dot. Exclamation. Cootie shot.” 

He glances up at Jensen through a stray fall of hair with a little smirk and twinkling eyes that flash briefly gold before turning right back to hazel.

“Damn it, man, if you’re just fooling around—” Jensen says, almost pulling his hand away. But then he feels a sharp tingle rising up through his arm, up to his shoulder, pins and needles, firefly bursts along his nerves that start slow but then rush through the rest of his body in the blink of an eye. Through his chest, gut, legs, toes. And then it’s gone.

“Wow.” That was… not what he expected. He places his free hand against the wall for support, his legs unsteady. 

“It’s not permanent or anything,” Jared says reassuringly, “so just let me know if you want me to take it off, anytime, and I can—“ 

“Never mind that,” Jensen cuts him off, straightening and stepping back down the hall toward the main area. “Let’s go test out whether your little mark actually works.”

***

It does work, and Jensen spends the rest of the evening hassle-free. It feels good, really good; less like he’s a commodity, more like he belongs here.

In fact, he finds himself back at the club every night that week. Each evening when he gets home from work, his quiet apartment no longer feels like the refuge it did in the past; now it just feels lonely. So off to _Trust_ he goes. And if that means by Wednesday he’s closing the door to his office and silencing his phone to grab a quick nap at his desk, well, it’s worth it to arrive back at that plain gray door each night.

He’s struck a grudging truce with the host, with Jensen making a game of being overly-polite and Adam making fun of him for choosing to keep wearing the red stickers. But, hey, it makes Jensen feel more secure. 

It’s not like he’s taking some walk on the wild side. All he does is sit and watch. He drinks his beer and waits for Jared to make his rounds on the dance floor, eventually ending up next to Jensen at the bar. 

And if he sometimes looks more closely into the shadows than he should at the entwined bodies there? If some nights he goes home and in his bed, in the silence, imagines Jared there with him, his hands on Jensen’s skin, his mouth on Jensen’s neck? Well, those red stickers make for a convenient barrier to keep those images safely at bay.

***

Saturday rolls around again and college football is on the screen above the bar, so of course Jensen and Chris get into an argument over whether Texas or Oklahoma are going to break the Top 25 rankings. This vamp named Jake who’s a Buckeyes fan jumps in, and so of course Felecia has to show up to defend the Tide and before you know it, a whole bunch of them are knee deep in passing yardage stats and Heisman prospects.

When Jared finally stops by, Jensen bows out of the debate, sliding down a few seats to get away from the worst of it and have Jared to himself for a minute. 

“Any chance you’re into football?” he asks Jared.

“Not any of this college stuff,” Jared scoffs. “But I’ll be a Cowboys fan forever.” 

“Alright!” Jensen grins and holds out a fist. “America’s team!”

Jared bumps knuckles. “You know they’re playing the Saints tomorrow? The line only has Dallas by two, so it should be a nailbiter.”

“Yeah, I’ll be camped out on my couch for sure.” And Jensen’s mouth runs along without him. “Too bad you don’t get out much, you could come over and watch with me!”

Jared goes strangely still for a moment, then mutters, staring intently down at the bar like the words he’s saying are written there, “Well, no. But you could come to my place?”

“Your place?” Jensen repeats. And the crazy thing is, Jensen’s never actually thought about where Jared goes when he’s not there. He’s always simply in the nightclub when Jensen arrives, still there when he leaves. 

“Yeah, I live upstairs. There’s an apartment on the second floor. You could—“ Jared trails off after a hasty glance at Jensen’s face. “Never mind. It’s okay if you don’t want to. It was a dumb idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“No, Jared,” he insists. “I’d like to. I was just surprised, is all. It’s a 4pm game, you know.”

“I know.” Jared throws him a blithe little look, always so amused when Jensen gets things wrong about the ways of Kindred. “I’ll just have to get up early.”

“Okay then,” Jensen says, still trying to wrap his head around the notion of a vampire’s apartment. Jared’s apartment. “Should I bring pizza?”

“That sounds great,” Jared replies. “It’s not like anyplace delivers out here.”

***

The next afternoon, Jensen shows up at _Trust_ a few minutes before kickoff with his Dez Bryant jersey on and pizza in hand. In the daytime, even though the doors have been left open, no one’s there. No staff or clients, everything is empty and dark and still. His footsteps echo as he heads to the door behind the bar that opens to a series of offices and a set of narrow stairs at the end. Those he climbs with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. He figures this is the part of the horror movie where the audience is screaming at the screen: Why in the hell would you go up there?

But nothing he’s done in the past two weeks has made a lick of sense. So up he goes.

There’s only a single door at the end of the hall. Jensen walks up to it and knocks, tentative at first, but then giving some heft to the last couple of raps. Because there’s nothing to be worried about, right?

It opens and the welcome sight of Jared fills the doorway. His jersey matches Jensen’s; it’s also 88, but with old-school styling. “Hey! Great, you’re here! I wasn’t sure—but—yeah. Great. Cool.” 

Jensen thinks it’s cute when Jared babbles. Plus, it has the added bonus of making all of that residual anxiety dissolve. “Don’t you have to invite me in?” he asks with a smirk.

Jared snorts. He steps aside to make way for Jensen to enter, rolling his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that goes the other way around. And, anyway, no.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting, but as he glances around the living room, he’s struck by how… how _cozy_ it is. The walls are painted a warm golden-brown where they’re not lined with rows of overflowing bookshelves, hardbacks, paperbacks, a couple of shelves stuffed with what look like graphic novels. The furniture is all dark woods and soft, nubbly fabrics, and there’s a ruby-red oriental rug that looks too soft to step on. Little knick-knacks are scattered everywhere on low tables; an old-fashioned rolltop desk bristles with papers. He spies an artist’s easel sitting in one corner with half-finished works and blank canvases stacked around it, and the mental image springs up of Jared sitting there, wielding a brush, his hands covered in bright paint. The only odd thing is the bay of windows on the far wall, its panes completely sealed over in opaque paint.

Jared has followed him in, watching anxiously, practically wringing his hands. As if Jensen’s reaction to his home was of utmost importance. 

“You know,” Jensen drawls, sticking with what works. “I was expecting a different look. Black, with maybe some red velvet curtains? And where’s the organ music?”

And, as intended, Jared relaxes, shoots back,“I save that for the castle in Transylvania.” 

“Must be a long way to fly with your little bat wings.”

“As if... I could never fly all that way in bat form.”

And the way Jared says it, so matter-of-fact, makes Jensen take the bait. “Okay, I give,” Jensen says, “Please tell me you can’t turn into a bat.”

“Of course I can’t turn into a bat,” Jared replies disdainfully.

“Well, excuse me. I saw you toss someone out of the club with the power of your _mind_ , a bat’s not that much of a stretch.”

“Easier to imagine than organ music?” 

“Almost.”

“Fine. Organ music in the club tomorrow night!”

Jensen’s laughing as he makes his way through an archway that separates the main living room from a big open kitchen and media area. It’s just as comfortably appointed as the front room—a kitchen island and cabinets of granite and wood and cool silver appliances, an overstuffed sectional couch arranged in front of a big screen—but what makes Jensen stop in his tracks is what’s laid out on the coffee table in front of the couch. Jared has covered pretty much every square inch in snacks: mini-sandwiches and tiny quiches, three kinds of chips with queso and guac and hummus and a plate vegetables trimmed in ornate shapes, wings, stuffed mushrooms, cheese sticks, bread sticks, and Jensen doesn’t even know what other kind of sticks there might be. It’s a truly preposterous amount of food.

“Just how many people did you invite, man?”

Jared buries his face in one hand. “I know. I know. It’s just—I don’t have people over very often. And by ‘very often,’ I mean ‘never ever.’” He peeks out at Jensen from between two fingers like a little boy. “I guess I got kind of carried away.”

“I guess you did.” Jensen grins and tosses the pizza box he’s still holding onto the kitchen island. “Not sure we’ll need any of this!”

He grabs himself a beer out of a bucket of ice sitting on the counter and takes it over to the couch. Jared’s messing with the television controller with one hand and wolfing down a handful of chips in the other. 

“Why do you even eat?” Jensen asks. “Food, I mean. What’s the point?”

“Um, because it’s delicious?” Jared answers, shoving a whole brownie into his mouth. Jensen hadn’t even noticed the brownies. “It doesn’t sustain me like it did back when I was human, but I can still taste it. Like you drinking a Diet Coke, nutrition-wise. Except that this stuff tastes a lot better.”

Jensen has to agree after he samples some of the offerings, and they settle in to watch the Cowboys win the coin toss and elect to receive.

It’s fun watching with someone else, even if Jensen has to swat Jared with a pillow a couple of times when he gets worked up over a missed call or some blown coverage. Jared’s the kind of fan who’ll jump up on the couch and bounce in excitement if you let him. But when the Cowboys are only clinging to a one-point lead, Jensen’s not going to be patient with that kind of nonsense.

But by late in the fourth quarter, Romo has things under control—for once—with a three score advantage, and both of them are feeling good about the final outcome. 

Jensen goes to twist the cap off another beer when his finger catches on the edge and tears a shallow cut in his skin. Normally it would be no big deal, but this is not a normal situation. He stiffens, then looks up at Jared who immediately jerks away and scrambles to the other end of the couch, eyes wide and hands digging into the leather armrest behind him.

“Sorry,” is all Jensen can think of to say. 

“It’s okay,” Jared replies, but his eyes never waver from their lock on Jensen’s seeping finger.

Inanely, Jensen asks, “Do you have a bandaid?”

Jared huffs a laugh, because yeah, why would a vampire have bandaids? Except it comes out strained and his breathing is too and the sound causes the hair on Jensen’s neck to prickle.

 _This is it_ , he thinks. _This is where Jared goes feral and takes me down._ And the fucked up thing he discovers is that part of him wants to lay back on the couch and bare his throat in anticipation. Jesus.

“I can fix it,” Jared says. “Will you let me fix it?”

“What?”

“My—“ Jared stops to lick his lips, for fuck’s sake, but then continues on in a more detached, clinical tone, “—my saliva, the saliva of the Kindred, is a coagulant with rapid healing capacity. Without it, the people we feed on might bleed out and die from the kind of lacerations it is necessary to inflict in order to access their bloodstreams.”

“Jared,” Jensen says quietly, trying to stay cool. “Snap out of it.”

Jared ducks his head then, running a hand through his hair, tugging on it, wrapping it around his fingers like a lifeline. “Sorry,” it’s his turn to say stiffly. “Sorry. Seriously, I don’t mean to scare you.”

“Not scared, just questioning my sanity.” Jared glances back up at him and it’s clear he recalls the same comment from back when they first met. Jensen smiles. Jared smiles back. And just like that, the crazy tension is broken.

“You know, I can actually heal it up pretty easily.” The way Jared says it this time is rueful rather than desperate. It sets Jensen enough at ease that he simply nods his permission. 

Jared moves slowly, like he wants to be sure not to alarm him. He brings a finger to his mouth and licks the tip. Jensen can’t help but notice how pink Jared’s tongue is, how the tip of his finger is glistening now, and his heart rate starts to rev, zero to sixty. 

Jared scoots back closer on the couch, but only close enough that he can reach, a few feet of buffer still between them. He brushes his spit-slick finger gently along the side of Jensen’s, tracking slowly over the wound. Jensen stops breathing, stops thinking, his entire being narrowed down to focus on where they touch. God help him, all he wants is for Jared to put his finger back in his mouth and lick Jensen’s blood off of it. But Jared simply wipes his hand carelessly on his jeans. 

Jensen looks down at his finger in time to see the edges of the scrape knit back together like magic. Well, it is a kind of magic, after all. His head is spinning and he thinks it might be a lack of oxygen, so he draws in a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Thanks. That’s a pretty cool trick.” He sounds like he’s been swallowing swords.

“Yeah,” Jared replies. “I should’ve opened a clinic instead of a club.” He quirks his mouth in another smile and Jensen tries his best to smile back again naturally. 

Something on the TV catches Jensen’s eye. He grasps eagerly at a change of subject. “Hey, looks like the game’s over.” 

“Did we miss the post-game interviews?”

They scramble back into fan-mode, but Jensen only stays a few more minutes before he stands up and makes ready to head out.

Jared walks him to the door. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Sure, it was fun.” And Jensen means it. It was, all weirdness aside.

“Will you be downstairs later tonight?” Jared asks.

“When am I not?” Jensen responds jokingly, and at this point, it hardly seems strange to him anymore that he’d be out every single night. 

Jared looks relieved. “See you later then.”

“Later,” Jensen says. The door shuts behind him, and as he heads back down the stairs he realizes he’s more confused than ever about what he’s doing there.

***

Jared catches back up with him a few hours later. They talk casually about the game with Jason and Chris, and Jensen teases him again about the mountains of food, but neither of them brings up what happened there at the end of the afternoon. Which is good. There’s no need to. Jensen’s just relieved that there’s no strain between them. Not that there should be, not that he can’t help thinking about, replaying over and over, what happened. No, it was just an aberration, and Jared’s clearly over it, so Jensen resolves that he is too. And that’s that.

***

But, a few nights later, it’s Jensen’s birthday. Unfortunately, he’d let it slip in passing earlier in the week that it was coming up, and now here he is getting treated to birthday shots. Way too many birthday shots. Seems like everyone, human and vampire alike—Katie, Mark, Gil, Osric, Rachel, at least a half dozen more regulars that Jensen’s met in the past few weeks—makes a point to stop by his usual spot at the bar and knock one back with him. It’s getting hard to remember how many at this point. A lot. Definitely a lot.

Chris and Danneel just keep serving them up with matching smirks, Danni laughing outright when Jensen has to prop his wobbly head on his hand to keep from going face-down into the bar.

“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” she sing-songs.

“I regret it now,” Jensen replies, enunciating carefully so as not to slur his words. He has some dignity left, after all. 

But when that one Modern English comes on, dignity be damned, he finds himself humming and singing along. “The future’s open wide. Mmmm Mmm Mmmm.” 

It occurs to him that while he loves that so many people want to celebrate with him tonight—his past few birthdays had been mostly spent alone surfing the internet—all he really wishes is that Jared would come over and hang out for a while, too. Instead, Jensen had gotten a casual pat on the shoulder with one of those big paws and a “Happy Birthday, man,” before Jared had lit out for the dance floor. He hasn’t been back by since. That jerk. 

Speaking of which, Jensen clutches his latest beer and turns to look for Jared on the floor. It’s automatic now, Jensen can spot him immediately, colored lights tripping softly across his face. He’s dancing with someone Jensen doesn’t recognize. A slim, handsome dark-haired kid that barely comes up to Jared’s shoulder. Jensen watches as the twerp moves closer, puts a hand on Jared’s hip, two fingers tucking into the waistband of his jeans, and _fuck_ that noise. 

Jensen’s up on his feet and shouldering through the crowd before he can think twice. He’s pretty proud of himself that he manages not to stumble or weave, although he has a little too much forward momentum by the time he reaches the pair and nearly plows right into them. Jared brings up both hands to catch him, steady him. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Jensen hears him say, too busy glaring daggers at the interloper to see Jared’s expression. Maybe Jared’ll be angry. Maybe Jensen’s the one who’s intruding. Maybe—

But Jared simply says, “See ya, Milo,” dismissing the kid and swinging Jensen around so that he’s between them, so close he’s almost pressed up against Jared. So close that—hey, still not thinking—Jensen leans in to press his face to Jared’s shirt, breathing deep to fill his lungs with the smell of him. Jared still sweats, like a human does. Is still warm, breathing, like a human is. Not alien, not uncanny, not undead. And all Jensen wants in that moment is to melt into him, give himself over to him, bask in the glow of all that power and vitality.

Jared turns him so that he’s leaning back into the hard wall of Jared’s chest, his ass nestled in the cradle of Jared’s hips as they sway together. He feels Jared’s nose graze the curve of his ear, the fine hairs behind it, can feel his lips curl into a smile. “Never did think I’d get you out here to dance. Happy birthday to me.” 

They move in rhythm, slow and sensual. Jensen reaches for one of Jared’s hands and pulls it so that it rests low on his belly. Liquid heat is pooling there, swirling. His head lolls of its own volition, too heavy, thick and fuzzy, back onto Jared’s shoulder. His neck is bare under Jared’s eyes. 

“Hey? Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” he murmurs. He reaches up to peel away the sticker on his neck, flicking it aside. 

Jared freezes, his arms suddenly like iron bands around Jensen. “Stop. Jensen. What are you doing?”

“Want to feel it.” Jensen turns in his embrace so that he’s chest-to-chest with Jared again. He looks up into Jared’s face, blinking, too close, can’t quite focus. “Want to know. Want you to show me. Taste me.”

Jared glances around swiftly then, without a word, practically lifts Jensen off his feet, hustling him off the dance floor and out of the light. Jensen would probably fall if not for Jared’s implacable grip, as they dodge several other couples until they reach a quiet, unoccupied spot. Jared steps in close, the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the rest of the club.

Jensen lets his head thunk back against the wall, as he’s seen so many other partners do. Not for Jared. Jared doesn’t do this. But maybe he will for Jensen. 

Jensen’s breath shortens with anticipation of the sting of Jared’s teeth. 

But Jared simply brings his hands up to cup Jensen’s face, framing it, waiting until Jensen opens his eyes to see Jared’s—hazel-blue, not gold—staring intently into his. “You’re drunk, you idiot.”

“M’not,” Jensen insists.

“You think you can just make yourself available at random in the middle of the club? That there aren’t a dozen Kindred lined up waiting for that to happen? What if my mark weren’t still on you? They’d drink you dry in a heartbeat.”

“Not them, just you,” Jensen says, because it’s obvious. He’s been Jared’s since the day he walked in here. It just took him awhile to figure it out, to get it. Now Jared needs to get it, too.

“Oh god,” Jared groans, leaning in so his forehead is touching Jensen’s. It’s closer. Closer is good.

“I know you don’t do this,” Jensen explains carefully. “Anymore. Not humans. And blood. But it’s me. It’s okay. Can’t we have this together?”

“No, you don’t understand—“ 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“No, it does matter. You’re all I think about. This isn’t a game for me like it is for them.” His voice drops, almost to a whisper. His mouth is so close to Jensen’s, their lips almost touch. Temptation. Addiction. Possession. “I want you so much, I ache with it. But once I’ve tasted what you are, I won’t want to give you up.”

“I don’t want you to give me up.” 

Jared draws in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut as if Jensen’s wounded him. Then he straightens up. “Listen. Let’s get you home safe and talk about this tomorrow, when you’re thinking straight.”

“No, wait.” But Jensen feels the moment slipping away, and with it, his bravado, his momentum. His legs feel like water, his head like cotton, and he sags into Jared when he pulls Jensen’s arm over his shoulder and starts walking him toward the exit. As they pass the bar, he dimly hears Jared call to Jason, “Grab your keys, man. I’ll drive Jensen’s car, you follow us to his place.”

The ride home is just a blur.

***

Jensen wakes up the next morning when the alarm goes off and immediately longs for death. He can’t stand, can barely crawl, but he does manage to make it into the master bath in time to puke violently into the toilet. He gasps for air, retching, eyes streaming, sinuses burning until it’s over and he can collapse onto the cool tile floor. It takes awhile to gather enough strength to heave himself up and fumble his phone off the nightstand. One eye squeezed shut against the agony of his pounding skull, he emails a terse message to work telling them he’s taking a sick day, and then curls back under the covers in misery.

It’s noon before he comes up for air again, still nauseous and foul and, to be honest, mortified. How can he have thrown himself at Jared that way? Right out in public, in front of everyone, all Jared’s friends and associates, the Kindred, the Were. Oh, hadn’t Jensen been proud of distinguishing himself from the rest of the crowd, the herd, that showed up at _Trust_ merely for the titillation and thrill? He’d been his own person, not just a human, not just a meal. 

Guess he’s not so special after all. Just another bloodbag, easy pickings. 

And Jared doesn’t even _do_ that, for fuck’s sake. How much must Jensen have insulted him by assuming he’d go back to drinking blood after all this time, just because Jensen begged? Just how much of an idiot did Jensen make of himself, with Jared having to hurry him off the floor, having to escort him from the club?

He groans and buries his face in the pillow, wishing he’d suffocate in it. His stomach churns and his throat aches and he’s stupid. So stupid.

Before the Cowboys game, Jared had given him a cell number, but he’s never felt the need to use it before. Now he reaches over for his phone and texts Jared: _I’m sorry. I was an ass last night._

He checks a few minutes later. No return text from Jared. It’s daytime, though. Jared’s probably still asleep.

All afternoon and into the evening, into the night, the next morning. No return text from Jared. 

Jensen thinks he remembers Jared saying that he wanted Jensen too. Weren’t the words he used that he _ached_ for him? Or more likely Jensen’s feeble, inebriated brain just imagined it. But the way he brought Jensen home, the way he let Jensen—oh Christ, it’s so embarrassing—rest his head in Jared’s lap during the ride, he can’t be mad at Jensen. 

He checks his phone again. 

This feels to Jensen a whole lot like being ignored. Like how Jared might treat him if he was embarrassed by Jensen’s actions too, and in the light of day—no pun intended— wanted to distance himself from potential drama. 

So Jensen decides to ignore all his issues with _Trust_. What he needs is a break, some distance, some perspective. 

He heads in to work the next morning resolved to focus on his current accounts which he’s let slide over the past few weeks. But after a few hours reviewing client files and management timelines, he realizes that it’s all going just fine. Even on autopilot, he’d been keeping up with his work with no problem. It was somewhat depressing to face what he already knew: being a Mortgage Loan Purchase Specialist Reviewer is not exactly anyone’s dream job. He’d never been 100% sure he liked accounting and finance in the first place, but his parents had encouraged him to pursue a secure, stable degree in college and he kind of just wandered into it. 

He glances around at the off-white walls, the gray computer screen, the tan file folders stacked on his beige desk. Damn, the last thing he needs to be doing is sitting here at his desk having a career crisis, on top of everything else.

At the end of the day he drags himself home. As he’s changing out of his suit, he looks at the casual clothes he’d typically throw on before heading out to _Trust_ hanging there, tempting him. 

But Jared still hasn’t texted a reply and Jensen’s still too chicken to show his face uninvited. He clicks on the TV but can’t find a movie or show he wants to watch: hockey, basketball, nothing sounds interesting. So instead he puts on some athletic shorts, laces up his New Balance, and runs out the door.

***

He calls Mackenzie the next day to see if she’s free for lunch. He’d spoken with her a couple of times recently, to make sure she was getting along alright, but they hadn’t talked directly about the nightclub since that first night when he followed her there.

They meet at their regular little café right off her main campus. She’s only got about 45 minutes between classes, so he makes sure to get there first to snag a table. When she hurries in, he flags her down. She looks good, happy and less stressed, and he can’t help but smile as they casually catch up on news about family and mutual friends.

But soon he shifts the conversation to talk about _Trust_. She’s the only one who can give him a second opinion. 

Unfortunately, she’s come around exactly to the wrong position: the one Jensen urged her to.

“Are you kidding? Don’t tell me you’ve been going back there, Jensen,” she says. “You told me yourself that place is too dangerous. We’re just… just things to them.”

“Not to everyone,” he insists, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I know you got mixed up with some shady characters but—“ 

She cuts him off, scowling. “Adrianne lured me there. And I went, even after she told me—” she lowers her voice, glancing around, too, “—what she is, because I thought she wanted to be with me. But once I showed up, she ignored me completely. And then she tossed me to her friends like I was a toy, like I was nothing.”

This is the first Jensen’s heard about how Mac felt about Adrianne, the underlying reason why she went to _Trust_ in the first place. And it doesn’t make much sense. If Adrianne has a human partner, it’s most certainly Genevieve. Jensen has never seen one around the club without the other, dancing or walking arm in arm. There must’ve been some kind of misunderstanding. 

“Maybe Adrianne didn’t know you were so interested,” Jensen offers. “Maybe she was just inviting you into the scene more generally.”

“Don’t defend her to me. They’re all alike. They don’t care about us except as a convenient, walking meal.” 

“I don’t know, Mac.” She sounds so angry, so vehement. Nothing like the uncertainty she displayed the night he took her back to Katherine’s. Maybe getting some distance has allowed her get a clearer perspective than he has right now, still muddled and confused. Or perhaps she’s simply latched onto a good justification for staying away.

She leans in closer. “Let’s put it this way, why don’t you tell me the name of the club?”

It’s a weird question, but when Jensen opens his mouth to say _Trust_ , nothing comes out. He tries again— _Trust_ , dammit—but he can’t say the word.

Mac smirks knowingly. “Yeah, and try tell me where it is, how do you get there in your car?”

He can’t. He can picture every turn in his head, but when he tries to describe it, even vaguely, his sentence simply trails off.

“They say it’s for protection,” she tells him. “So that human authorities can’t find them, so that the club can hide in plain sight. But maybe it’s only because they enjoy screwing with us, mucking around with our minds.”

Jensen doesn’t know what to think. He fiercely resents that someone put—what did Jared call it?—a geas on them without his knowledge. But at the same time, he has to grant that the explanation makes some sense. What else would stop humans like Mac with a grudge against the Kindred from exposing _Trust_ to the world? Humans would certainly start hunting down vampires if it were discovered they were anything but a myth. Jared’s plan to bring people together safely relies on a certain degree of secrecy. 

Or is he just making up sorry excuses for them? Has his judgment been impaired somehow, even without being seduced by the lure of feeding for pleasure? Are Jared and his friends the good guys or the bad guys in this story? 

He must’ve been quiet too long, because Mac’s expression softens. She lays a hand over his. “You have to quit, too.”

“I have quit,” he replies. And it’s the first time saying it out loud. It hurts his heart. “I’m done. I mean, I never really started. Never engaged in, you know,” he looks pointedly at her throat, “what humans go there for. It was just a place to go to have fun. Where I—it sounds stupid, but I felt at home. Mac, I just don’t know.”

“I don’t know either. I mean, honestly, you look great, seem happier than you have in years. Maybe you can make it work when I couldn’t. But you’re the one who told me it was evil and not to go back there. You need to decide whether you should take your own advice.” She checks her watch and then fumbles for her backpack. “Thanks for lunch. And be smart about this, okay?”

He has one last question. “Tell me, do you miss it?”

“No,” she says brusquely. “I don’t. It was addictive, but it couldn’t give me what I was really looking for. Cold turkey was the right thing to do. You know what the worst part is, though?” She stands and comes around the table to give him a parting hug around the shoulders, and as she does, she whispers to him. “I know I’ll never feel that happy ever again.”

***

That night, Jensen returns to _Trust_. The second he’d assured Mac that he had quit, he knew it was a lie. He hasn’t been able to stay away since the moment he stepped foot in this place. Wrath, then curiosity, then affection. It had been a slippery slope.

He parks in his usual spot, the bright full moon illuminating the typically unlit parking lot, making it seem unfamiliar, even after only a few days’ hiatus. There are also fewer cars than Jensen’s gotten used to, but it’s not until he walks into the club’s foyer that the niggling feeling that something is off is confirmed. Adam’s not at his regular post and John’s bulk is missing from the corner. The entryway sits empty, and Jensen has to reach around to open the drawer in the podium himself to pull out a sticker. 

He places it carefully, precisely on his neck. It feels like armor. 

Inside, things feel off-kilter as well. The club is undeniably less crowded than usual, and the small groups of that do cluster together on the dance floor seem oddly jumpy. Jensen watches as a vampire strides onto the floor and takes a human firmly by the arm, marching him away from the group without a word. Something about the abruptness of it, the lack of the exuberance that’s always seemed to characterize interactions between partners in _Trust_ , sets alarms ringing in his head. Even more unsettling, there are three strange Kindred tending bar, with Chris, Danneel, and Jason nowhere to be seen. 

Across the room, Jensen spies a table occupied by a few of Jared’s friends and he makes his way over, trying not to freak out. 

“What’s going on?” he demands once he’s in earshot. 

“We don’t know,” Katie says anxiously without even commenting on Jensen’s recent absence or his birthday antics. “We haven’t seen Jared for days.”

“Days?” Jensen’s stomach is suddenly hollow. “Have you checked his apartment?”

“No answer,” Ty confirms. “His phone either.”

“What about the Were?” No way Chris or Danni stands by and just watches this happen.

“This is the time of their regular monthly seclusion. During their transformation, they have to stay locked-down for everyone’s safety.” Ty says it matter-of-factly, but Jensen can hear the distaste in his voice. Stupid prejudices. 

Jensen keeps pressing. “Worthy?” 

Aldis shakes his head ‘no’ as Amber chimes in. “We haven’t seen him around at all. But if this is some kind of coup, the timing couldn’t be better. And there are enough of his people here taking advantage of Jared’s absence and messing with the humans that it’s going to ruin _Trust_ whether it’s Worthy behind it or not.”

Jensen is this close to yelling at them for their cowardly lack of action. But what would that solve? “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Ty grumbles. “Go home, or stay here with us.” 

“It’s not safe to wander around alone,” Katie says, “even wearing that.” She nods at Jensen’s trusty sticker.

“Christ,” Jensen swears under his breath. He had no idea. Speaking of cowards, he’d been sitting at home feeling sorry for himself when all this was going down. When Jared needed him. Not that he could’ve done anything helpful, trifling human that he is, but it still feels like he abandoned Jared at the exact wrong moment. Where _was_ Jared, anyway? Dread at the possibilities tastes thick and poisonous in his mouth.

He smacks the palm of his hand against the tabletop. He has to do something, even if it’s useless. “I’m not going to wander, I’m just going up to check Jared’s apartment for signs of where he might have gone.” He turns away before they can argue against it and heads for the cut-through in the bar, ducking under and slipping through the door to the back offices before one of the nameless bartenders can stop him.

The hall is still and empty, but he doesn’t make it three strides toward the staircase before one of the office door opens and out steps a vampire. It’s Alaina, but Jensen’s not sure what she’s doing back here.

“You should have chosen me when you had the chance, sunshine.” She gestures for him to precede her back into the office, and there he finds Worthy, sitting behind the desk with his feet up. Amanda and Sebastian and a few others Jensen doesn’t recognize stand arrayed around him. 

“It’s Jared’s pet,” Alaina announces. 

“I can tell. He stinks from the mark,” Worthy says, looking Jensen up and down like a cockroach he’d like to squash under his boot heel. “I’d drain him, but I’m sure his blood tastes like sewage.”

“What should we do with him?” one of the vamps asks.

“Throw him in with the beasts in the basement,” Worthy replies. “They’ll rip him apart for us. That seems only fair retribution to Jared for raising them up in our presence.”

Jensen can’t hold his tongue any longer. “Jared will find you, he’ll make you pay for this.”

Worthy just gives a small smile. “Jared’s not going to do anything to anyone. Ever again.”

His certainty crushes Jensen’s hope. He must’ve done something to Jared personally, must have—

But they don’t give him any time to despair; two of them grab him by the arms and march him out through a different door that reveals a hidden staircase, which leads them to the building’s unfinished warehouse-like basement. The cinderblock walls and concrete floors trap the chill, but that’s not what makes Jensen shiver. It’s the sight of a massive cell—a cage— built of thick iron bars. The moment the captives inside spot them, they let loose with blood-curdling howling and growls, throwing themselves against the sides of the cage in fury, red-eyed and jaws slavering. They’re not wolves, or at least they’re bigger than any wolves Jensen’s ever seen or heard of. They’ve got huge shoulders and barrel chests, elongated muzzles bristling with teeth sharper than any dog’s, four of them standing more than hip-high on Jensen and one terrifying monster the size of a small pony. 

One of the vampires grabs a key ring off of a hook set into the wall and advances warily toward the cage, careful not to let her hands anywhere the wolves could reach her as she opens the lock. The other has Jensen in a vice-like grip and the moment the cage door swings open the narrowest slit, he shoves Jensen through. Jensen stumbles forward as the sound of the door clanging shut behind him is nearly drowned out by the vicious baying of the Were, and he stumbles to the floor, bruising his hands and knees, curling up in a fetal position, taut with anticipation of the deadly slash of fangs.

But the russet-furred one—oh Christ, this must be Danneel—simply stands over him protectively, while the others stay pressed up against that bars, harassing the vampires that are backing slowly toward the stairs. 

Danneel nudges him with her muzzle, and he lets out a small involuntary yelp. She cocks her head at him, as if trying to tell him something and then bumps him again, harder. She takes the hem of his shirt in her teeth and tugs and worries at it, growling, then looks up intently at their captors and back down at Jensen again. 

He has no idea if he’s interpreting her correctly, or if he’s just gone mad, but he lets out a louder cry, for the benefit of the vampires. “No! Stop! Please!” he screams. And god knows he’s no actor, but he’s sure got enough panic to draw on to make it sound real. The other wolves rush over, screening him from sight, and he screams again from inside their circle, wordless and drawn out, like he’s being torn apart.

The minute the door closes behind the vamps the Were back away, allowing Jensen to scramble to his feet. Chris, Jason, Adam, he can tell exactly who is who. And of course John is as mammoth in wolf form as he is as a man. 

Jensen rushes past them to the cell door, testing its strength, examining the lock, gauging the width of the bars to see if he can possibly squeeze through. How the hell is he going to get out? He figures if there was a vulnerability in the cage, the Were would have already exploited it. 

But then he glances up, and notices that the ceiling is made of a panel tile grid like you’d find in an office. He wonders if that could be the answer. But the problem is he can’t reach that high and the bars are too slick to shimmy up and there’s nothing to stand on except—

He sucks in a sharp breath. Then he reaches out a hand toward John who’s shadowing Adam, both of them ignoring him and pacing restlessly at the far end of the cage. Do the Were understand English in their current form? 

“Hey,” he calls softly, in case for some reason their captors are listening. “Would you help me?” He points at the ceiling and then beckons John over. All five of the Were stop and stare at him unnervingly. Chris lets out a barely audible growl that nevertheless rasps along Jensen’s nerves like asphalt. He shivers and finds himself backing up slowly, rethinking this whole thing, but then Chris signals with a nod of his head, and John pads up to Jensen’s side. 

Jensen cautiously touches his gigantic shoulder, his gray-white fur stiff as a boar’s bristles. He points up again with his free hand and then gingerly, oh so carefully, places a foot on John’s back haunch and clambers up onto his back. Holding onto the bars for balance, Jensen stands and reaches for the ceiling. He can almost touch, his fingertips brushing the tile above. He strains up onto his toes, but still can’t quite make it. Suddenly, underneath him, John rears up onto his hind legs, boosting him another two feet into the air, and Jensen’s able to grab onto one of the grid crossbeams. It snaps off in his hand like a twig, goddammit, but when he scrabbles for a second hand-hold, he finds one that must be part of the permanent structure, because it’s strong enough to bear his weight. He grips it with both hands and grunts with effort as he hauls himself into the shallow plenum space between the ceiling panels and the building’s guts—wires and piping and A/C ducts—hanging above. 

Now he can see which crossbeams are solid, and he crab-walks on hands and toes across them like a kid on a playground monkeybars. He counts—nine, ten, eleven— until he figures he’s gone far enough to be beyond the cage limits, and then pops a tile out of place to check. 

He’s good, but, fuck, the ground looks a long way down. There’s nothing to do, though, other than swing down and let himself hang in mid-air, praying he doesn’t break both ankles, before dropping to the floor.

The impact jars every bone in his body, but a second later he’s on his feet and running for the key. He grabs it off the wall and flies back to the cell door, fumbles, turns, throws it open. The Were burst out, tearing up the stairs in the wink of an eye. Jensen throws the key to the floor and rushes to follow, up, up, up to find Jared.

***

Jensen takes the stairs three at a time, heart in his throat, only to come smack up against Jared’s locked apartment door.

 _Fuck!_ How’s he going to get in? Maybe Worthy was lying, maybe they couldn’t get to Jared either? 

But he knows that’s a false hope, that if Jared was okay, he’d have returned Jensen’s text days ago. He would have been out fighting for the nightclub. 

Jensen hammers on the door with his fist, then kicks at it. He might as well be pounding away at a block of steel. He rests his head against the wood and squeezes the doorknob like he’ll pulp it, and in that moment he feels a tingle work its way up his hand and arm, the same pins-and-needles sensation from when Jared laid his protective mark on him. 

There’s a click, and the door swings open.

Jensen doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t hesitate, just shoves his way inside, shouting Jared’s name. The living room is wrecked, ransacked, but in a hurried way. Mostly stuff swept off of surfaces and onto the floor, a few chairs turned over. A rushed job. But he barely takes a moment to process it as he dashes through each of the apartment’s rooms, looking for any sign of Jared himself. 

The last door at the end of the hall must be Jared’s bedroom, someplace he’d imagined—fantasized—seeing in different circumstances. Now it’s Jensen’s last hope for finding Jared alive. Bursting in, he frantically scans the room, the huge California king empty, the master bath door thrown wide revealing an empty space. Then, against the back wall in a recessed alcove, Jensen spies what is possibly—no, definitely—a coffin. 

_A coffin. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Jared._

He rushes over, hands scrabbling across the black-lacquered surface for a way to open it, but it’s been sealed shut with ordinary duct tape, tight bands encircling it from top to bottom. Jensen can’t figure out what it means, why it’s there. Then he wonders maybe, if Jared’s enemies had opened the lid to get directly to him, he might have awoken and put up a fight. This way, they could kill him without a touch. Those bastards.

He wastes precious time tugging fruitlessly at the tape with his bare hands before he thinks to spin and sprint back out to the kitchen. He snatches a knife from the butcher block on the counter and dashes back to the bedroom. He starts slicing and sawing at the thick silver bindings.

Thank god the blade is sharp, because Jensen’s going crazy from the horrific images flashing through his head of what might be inside, hoping against hope it’s not some gruesome remains, wondering how long Jared could survive being sealed away. 

When the last strand pops free, Jensen grips a brass handle affixed on the coffin’s side and throws back the lid.

He’s there. Jared. Lying still on the bedding of satin lining. He might as well be asleep—bare-chested in incongruous plaid pajama pants—except that he’s as bone white as a marble statue, his lips grey, his eyebrows dark feathers arching across his pale brow. 

“No. No, no, no.” Jensen lays his palm on Jared’s cheek, finds his skin is cool to the touch. 

How do vampires die, anyway? He tries to remember some of the stories Jared told him, how he’d laugh at myths about garlic and stakes and dead man’s blood. _So said the fucker who’s lying in a coffin,_ Jensen thinks, heartbeat racing as he wracks his brain over what to do. He grabs Jared’s lifeless hand and brings it up to his chest, pressing it over his heart. “Feed, damn you,” he mutters, willing some of his lifeforce to flow into Jared’s empty tank. 

Long seconds, more than a minute ticks by with no response, the room silent except for Jensen’s harsh breathing. Finally he drops Jared’s hand and turns away in frustration, but as he does, his foot hits the knife that he’d dropped heedlessly to the floor. 

He scoops it up, stares at the blade. It could work. He’s got to try. After the other night, he still doesn’t know how Jared will react, what he wants. But they say it’s better to beg forgiveness, and Jensen sure can’t ask goddamn permission. 

Swiftly, before he can chicken out, he draws the knife across the meaty part of his palm, cutting as deep as he can stand. If this doesn’t work, he’s probably going to have to go to the hospital for stitches. But it will work. It will. 

Blood starts to flow, the red shockingly bright. Jensen has to cup it in his palm as he reaches out to bring it to Jared’s cold lips, dropping the knife back onto the floor and using his other hand to ease Jared’s jaw open. He watches as his blood trickles into Jared’s mouth. 

If he wasn’t looking for it, he’d have missed it. The smallest movement of Jared’s throat. The smallest swallow. 

A trace of pink blooms in Jared’s cheeks, but immediately fades away again. 

Jensen scoots his free arm underneath Jared’s shoulders and tries to sit him up a bit. But he’s heavy and the angle Jensen’s got is awkward. All he can do is shove his bleeding hand farther into Jared’s mouth. He swears he feels Jared’s lips curl deliberately around it, and then suddenly he _knows_ because Jared’s sucking at the wound, and an electric shock of sensation bursts across Jensen’s nerves, up his arm and down his spine, a jolt of fire and ice that almost sends him to his knees with its intensity. 

Jared’s eyelashes flutter. Jensen swallows against a lump in his throat.

“Hey. Hey. You okay? You with me again?” 

“Jensen,” Jared croaks. “What’s going on?” He licks his lips unconsciously as if chasing the lingering taste of Jensen’s blood. He looks like shit.

“You were dying or—or whatever it is your kind does to stop existing. But it’s okay now. I’m here.”

Jensen’s optimism is short-lived, though, as Jared’s eyes slip shut again and his breathing, oh god, his breathing stops. 

Jensen brings his still-oozing hand to Jared’s lips again. Once more the trickle of blood seems to revive him. But no color infuses his skin and this time when he speaks, Jensen can barely hear him.

“I’m sorry,” Jared whispers. “It’s too late.”

“The hell it is.” It’s not even a plan, it has no hope of working, but it’s simply all he can think of to do. He rips off his button-down shirt and grabs the back of the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath and drags it off over his head. Then he plucks the knife up once more and climbs into the fucking coffin with Jared, hovering over him, just enough room to get a knee on either side of Jared’s thighs.

Desperate as he is, he can’t quite bring himself to slice into his own throat, so he brings the blade up, near as he can stand to the soft hollow between shoulder and neck.

He cuts, and flings the blade away. 

With both hands he seizes Jared’s shoulders and hauls his limp body upright, drags him in and guides his lips to the wound on Jensen’s shoulder that stings like flame. He can’t bear to look down at it. Can’t look at Jared’s shoulder, either, where Jensen’s bloody palm has painted a twin scarlet smear on the smooth skin. He just closes his eyes and begs whatever strange gods might have dominion over the Kindred to make Jared feed, to make him take whatever he needs from Jensen and _live_.

The bite is quicker than a viper’s strike, the dull thump of the punctures sinking deep. Jensen jerks as if electrocuted, has to grasp Jared’s head and clutch him tight to keep from writhing and bucking right off his lap. Jared’s mouth works at him and the pressure of it, the pleasure, oh god, it whips through him as furious and unexpected as a tornado, dismantling everything in its path. He’s flying out of his skin, his nerves singing, shattering like glass. His heart beats loud in his ears, matching in rhythm with the _suck suck suck_ of Jared consuming him, rejuvenating him, the two of them merging together. 

Jared’s skin gets warmer and warmer under Jensen’s hands as he runs them frantically over his back and shoulders and neck, needing to touch, needing something to cling to. He wants to push up into Jared’s jaws, wants Jared to peel back his skin, to break his collarbone with the force of his ownership. He wants to push down, to grind into Jared where he can feel Jared’s cock start to stiffen and twitch, to ease the aching pulse of his own where it’s trapped in his slacks. 

Jared’s hands come up to seize Jensen’s hips, making that decision for him as he yanks Jensen closer, hitching his hips upward and groaning his need into Jensen’s skin. Jared’s dick is a searing line of heat even through two sets of fabric and Jensen humps against him shamelessly, his entire lower body throbbing and raw.

Jared suddenly pulls back and Jensen looks down into Jared’s dazed and desperate eyes, his beautiful skin pink and healthy again, his lips coated in Jensen’s blood. 

“Jensen,” Jared gasps to him helplessly.

“Do you want more?” 

Jared nods, hunger burning in his gaze.

“Then drink,” Jensen commands, pulling Jared in toward his throat once again. The second bite is even more intense than the first, like a double shot of heroin driven straight into his bloodstream, like pure adrenaline and light incarnate, permanent trails of it etched along his nerves. He understands now, he takes back every judgmental thought he ever had about humans who gave themselves over to this. How could anyone be less than an utter, wanton slave to this feeling?

He feels Jared’s hands fumbling at his belt, unbuckling it, unzipping his fly. He whimpers as Jared’s long fingers slip beneath the waistband of his underwear to brush along the length of his cock. Even that slight touch is breathtaking, punching little “ah, ah” sounds out of his lungs as Jared curls his fingers gives Jensen a series of short, smooth strokes. It’s suddenly necessary, essential that he touch Jared the same way, so he slips a hand between them—careful not to interfere with the exquisite movements Jared’s making— and eases Jared’s downy-soft cotton pants over his jutting dick. 

Jensen rears up just enough to allow Jared to shove his clothing as far down his thighs as it can go in this tight space, then widens his legs and lowers himself back down. The hot skin of their bare cocks grazes then thrusts against each other as Jensen arches his back, rolls and circles his hips, filthy and unabashed in Jared’s lap. He times his strokes with the cadence of suction at his neck, and the radiant feeling of each sip Jared draws from him is sharpened by the friction of the ridges of Jared’s cock against his.

Suddenly, Jared pulls his hand away, bringing it up to Jensen’s mouth. His gut clenches at the smell of his own sex and at the feel of Jared’s lips coasting up the taut tendon of his neck to his ear to whisper, “Lick.”

Jensen does as he’s told, his tongue seeking out Jared’s palm, wetting it, soaking it, tasting the earthy hint of precome that already leaked onto it. 

He almost comes from the jolt of Jared’s third bite alone, but then it’s joined by the feel of Jared’s slick hand skating over the head of his dick, taking up both of them, his fingers long enough to encircle them together, stroking them down to the base. Jensen buries his face in Jared’s hair to keep from screaming, his ass clenching, wishing Jared was deep inside him, for Jared to fill him up with liquid dense and hot to replace all that he’s siphoning off.

Then he’s bucking uncontrollably as Jared’s hand tightens—oh god, oh god—jerking them choppy and fast, sucking harder and harder, until fireworks blast from the base of Jensen’s spine, his pleasure roaring up through his veins, straight into Jared’s waiting soul. Jensen’s balls draw up, rock hard, pumping spunk over Jared’s fist. A second later he feels Jared gasp for breath, his cock jerking against Jensen’s and then his come is flowing too, mixing with Jensen’s, a pungent, thick mess between them.

It’s Jensen’s turn to slump boneless into Jared and Jared’s turn to support him, hold him through it, as echoing waves roll through him and his muscles melt like candlewax. Jared’s whispering “thank you, thank you” over and over into the tender skin of Jensen’s neck. He’s laying wet, healing open-mouthed kisses over the knife mark, the bite marks, and Jensen’s torn between wanting to keep some kind of scars—as proof, as keepsake—and moaning with contentment at the soft sweetness of his lips. He doesn’t resist, but also doesn’t help as Jared tucks him away back in his pants, straightening both their clothes.

It’s the strangest sensation when Jared stands, lifting Jensen up in his arms light as a feather. Jensen can’t recall the last time another person actually picked him up, and yet here Jared does it with seemingly no effort. Even more astonishing is when he leaps with Jensen out of the coffin. He lands, cat-like, with barely a sound, barely a jostle, and carries Jensen swiftly to the bed, easing him down onto the blankets. 

Jared sits down next to him, his weight making the mattress dip and Jensen tilt slightly toward him. How appropriate.

Jared takes Jensen’s hand in his, looking down at it with wonder. He skims a thumb along the fading pink seam that is all that’s left of Jensen’s original wound. Jensen soaks in the sight of him, radiant and strong. 

Jared glances up again to catch Jensen’s gaze. “Why?” 

This feels more difficult than cutting himself open with the knife. But Jensen realizes the technique is the same: don’t think, just strike, quick and deep. “Because I’m in love with you.”

There’s a scary moment when Jared doesn’t respond, his eyes wide and his hand tightening painfully over Jensen’s, but then everything is perfect as he dives down, sealing his mouth to Jensen’s in a heated kiss, one hand cupping the back of Jensen’s skull as he strokes his tongue along the seam of Jensen’s lip, nipping and laving at them, diving inside when Jensen opens to him, sharing a hint of the copper-penny taste of blood. He only breaks away to murmur, “Me too. Me too.” He presses into another deep, breath-stealing kiss and then pulls back once more. “Since the moment I first saw you. But I wasn’t sure you could ever feel the same. About someone like me.” 

Jensen sits up so that they’re facing each other. He knows he’s grinning like a lunatic, but then, so is Jared, so it’s okay.

He reaches out to smooth Jared’s disheveled hair, tucking a glossy strand of it behind one of his ears. He’s never been in love before, and he realizes that he’s going to be pathetically sappy about it. “I’m so thankful you’re alright.”

He didn’t intend for that to cause a cloud of concern to flow across Jared’s face, but it does. 

Then Jared kisses him again, hard but too short, and stands up, striding over to pull jeans out of a dresser drawer and slip them on. 

“What are you doing?” Jensen asks, taken off guard.

“I need to go confront Worthy and his confederates.”

“What?” Jensen exclaims, then realizes sitting here arguing with Jared over the stupidity of rushing out the door right after a near-death experience is fruitless. Jared’s going to do stupid things with or without him. So with him, it is. He hops up too, almost falling on legs as wobbly as a newborn colt’s, and hurries over to where his shirts lie in a ball on the floor. His slacks are smeared and damp with questionable stains, but there’s nothing he can do about that. 

“Wait, Jensen, you’ve got to stay here,” Jared insists. “Look at me. I’m strong, with what you’ve given me. Stronger than any of them. But you—”

“Stop,“ Jensen cuts him off, continuing to button his shirt. “I’m coming with you. I won’t put myself in danger, but I will also not sit back and let them hurt you again.”

Jared’s brow furrows but he doesn’t deny him. “When we find the Weres, you’ll stay with them? Or Amber and Katie?”

“I’m staying with you. There’s nowhere I’m safer than with you. Didn’t you tell me that once?”

Jared smiles faintly. “That’s right, I did.” He hesitates, looking off into the middle distance for a second. Then he says in a quiet voice, “Maybe I was wrong. Wrong in thinking I could protect you. Wrong in thinking this club would work. Who am I to think I can change how Kindred and humans interact? That we could have partnership instead of—instead of what we’ve had for who knows how long?”

“You aren’t wrong.” Jensen hurries to Jared’s side. He needs to touch him. He wants to make this count. Taking Jared by the shoulders, he gives him a little shake. “I believe in _Trust_. I believe in you. Just look how knowing you has changed me. Don’t let the actions of few evil people destroy your work.” 

Jared brings his hands up to frame Jensen’s face. He leans down to bestow another sweet kiss, then pulls his shoulders back like he’s girding for battle. 

“So what’s the plan?”

Who knows how many vampires Worthy has recruited, or even others who will stand by and watch as _Trust_ is taken down. Katie and the others will help, but exactly how, and what will happen beyond that is a mystery to Jensen. “I don’t know. Kick some ass?”

“Sounds good,” Jared says, and when he turns to wink at Jensen he lets his eyes flash gold with power for a brief moment. Show off.

Jensen doesn’t know what awaits them, but he puts his hand on the doorknob without pause. “Okay. Let’s go take our club back.”

He certainly doesn’t expect to swing the door open and find all five Were arrayed waiting in the hall. The blood on their muzzles and the battered condition of their coats tells a tale of violence: Jason’s favoring one paw, Adam’s left eye is swollen shut. But the bigger surprise is when Chris pads forward, because in his jaws is what looks like the grisly stump of an arm, and that arm is encased in what looks like the sleeve of the coat Jensen saw Worthy wearing earlier. 

He looks at Jared. Jared looks back.

“I think they stole our plan,” Jensen says calmly.

***

Epilogue: One year later

Jensen looks up from his computer screen when he hears Jared shut off the water and step out of the hotel shower. The sun’s going down and Jared’s just woken up.

He calls out toward the bathroom, “Guess what? We got confirmation today of our liquor license for the new Washington D.C. club.”

It turned out that, after the struggle at the original _Trust_ , word of Jared’s vision for bringing humans and vampires together had spread throughout the Kindred community. Some felt, like Worthy, that it was an abomination and disapproved of his and Jared’s relationship and everything they stood for. But many more Kindred—sick of skulking in the shadows, hunting and hiding for survival—rallied around the idea. Jensen quit his job and, together, he and Jared had traveled around, talking to groups of Kindred about _Trust_ and, with their financial help, setting up more nightclubs in cities across the U.S. and even a small boutique hotel in Vegas. 

They’re in Pittsburg now for the opening of its new _Trust_. As soon as they’re done here, they’ll head to D.C. to get that one set up, recruiting like-minded Kindred and Were to run it. 

Jared peeks out from around the door, scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel. “That’s great!”

“You know what else is great?” Jensen asks with a grin.

“That it’s Saturday?” Jared says, grinning in answer. 

“Yep,” Jensen says. He stands up from the desk chair and stretches brazenly, making sure to let his shirt ride up and give Jared a peek of skin. 

Jared’s voice has a bit of growl in it when he says, “Then why don’t you get naked and get on that bed. I’ll be right there.”

Jensen starts to strip, pulse already speeding up with anticipation. Early on, Jared had set a limit on how often he’d take blood from Jensen, wanting to make sure they didn’t overdo it and endanger Jensen’s health. So during the week, he’d feed the regular way. And if Jensen preferred Jared to psychic-whammy it all from him instead of the other patrons on the club dance floors like he used to, well. Jensen could be a little possessive that way. However, Saturdays were reserved for a little of the old-fashioned approach. 

Sex with Jared was always fantastic, but Saturdays were the best.

He’s laying face down on the bed, his head propped on his folded arms, when Jared comes back out of the bathroom. His hair is still damp and brushed back off of his forehead, and he’s let a little stubble grow in on his jaw. Jensen likes the way it feels on his bare skin, so Jared doesn’t shave as much anymore. Not that it matters: those stories about reflections in mirrors aren’t so accurate, either. 

Jensen considerately spreads his legs and Jared crawls up into the space between them. 

Jared tosses the bottle of lube he brought out with him onto the sheet next to Jensen without opening it. 

“Oh c’mon,” Jensen whines, realizing Jared wants to play first.

“Patience, Beautiful,” he says, and Jensen can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll get you there.”

Jared works his way up Jensen’s body. He strokes one hand along the back of his right leg, lingering to rub his thumb in soft circles in the hollow behind Jensen’s knee. Feather-light strokes on his thigh, slowly, so slowly moving higher, until he’s running his fingertips over the curve of Jensen’s ass. His hand lingers there, fanning out, the broad heat of his palm making Jensen wriggle just a little with urgency. “Shhh,” Jared soothes.

He lets his fingers drift down until he’s caressing Jensen’s balls from the underside, and Jensen’s already so hard he has to hold himself back from humping the bed, _Christ_. He opens his legs even wider in invitation and chuckles when he hears a muttered curse from behind him revealing that Jared’s not as cool as he’s pretending to be.

Jared’s hand settles down low on his back. Presses deep. “Beautiful,” he says again, thickly, and Jensen bounces his hips.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he tries to joke, but gets distracted by the warmth of Jared’s mouth at the base of his spine. 

“I could bite you right here,” Jared says against his skin. His tongue laves over the meaty part of Jensen’s ass. “So delicious.”

“But awkward,” Jensen says, then gasps as Jared buries his face deep and licks right over the tight furl of his hole. “Jesus, warn a guy, why don’t you?”

Jared just laughs in a way that sends fire up Jensen’s spine and reaches for the lube at last.

He takes his time with that, too, and doesn’t let up until Jensen’s writhing and begging, three fingers deep inside him but it’s still not enough.

Jared scoots up closer behind him. He wraps an arm around Jensen’s middle and pulls him upright so that he’s straddling Jared’s lap, his thighs splayed wide, his cock standing up against his belly, brushing wet against Jared’s wrist. His skin is hot, he feels feverish. Jared’s hands travel over him, caressing every square inch—his pecs and nipples, his abs, the supple creases between belly and thighs, but, fuck, ignoring his cock—fanning the flames.

Jared’s length rides the lube-slick groove of Jensen’s ass, stiff and eager. Every time they fuck, Jensen is astonished at the thought of all that fitting up inside him. Jared’s got him stretched and ready, but he hardly even needs that. All he needs is the sting of Jared’s teeth and everything else takes care of itself.

He reaches back to curl his fingers around the hot base of Jared’s dick to hold it steady… or as steady as he can with his hands trembling with need. Jensen’s got no leverage, no way to move spread out like this, so he relies on Jared to lift him by the hips, position him so he’s ready to be impaled, to open up and sink down, to take Jared all the way inside. 

But first. 

“Ready?” Jared whispers in his ear. He brings a hand up to cup Jensen’s jaw and gently, firmly—oh god like he knows what it does to Jensen—and he turns him to the side so that his throat is laid bare. 

“Hell yeah,” Jensen murmurs, arching back onto Jared’s shoulder, opening it up even more.

Jared rubs his prickly jaw against the side of Jensen’s neck like a fucking tease. Then he drops Jensen onto his cock, shoving the thick head into Jensen’s waiting hole at the same time he bites into the flesh of his neck.

The pain and the ecstasy crash within him like storm surge, breaking over each other, mixing and roiling, never alike, and he cries out Jared’s name. But Jared simply holds him tight, the hands at his throat and at his hip like bindings, pinning him against Jared’s body as he buries himself deeper into Jensen. Each punch of Jared’s hips up, each new inch that his cock penetrates is accompanied by a tug of Jared’s lips, a sip of blood from Jensen’s body, a shocky double rhythm that overtakes every sense.

Jensen wants to reach up and touch Jared’s hair, his face, run his fingers over the hollowing of his cheeks as he sucks. But he’s like a ragdoll, arms and legs akimbo, sprawled there in Jared’s lap, speared on his dick and on his fangs, just indulging, immersing himself in feeling. 

He sinks lower and lower until he can feel his legs come to rest on Jared’s, his ass pressed into Jared’s hips. Jared’s rooted inside him, filling every hollow. Or so he thinks, until Jared brings his hands around and places them on the insides of Jensen’s thighs, pressing them open implacably, a stretch, the smallest strain, until Jensen’s opened up just that much more and Jared slots in deeper than ever.

They pause like that, a brief lull in the storm. Jared laps, kitten-like, at a drop of blood that escaped past his lips and goes trickling down Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen squirms, rolling his hips as best he can, feeling the solid weight of Jared inside him and wanting more. Wanting to _move_.

“Go,” he demands, low and breathless. “I need you to. Need you to take it all.”

He feels Jared look up at him, and Jensen twists his head to press their mouths together. It’s an awkward angle, but it doesn’t matter. Jared licks Jensen’s bottom lip, teasing him with his tongue, letting his extended fang graze the tender skin just inside his mouth so Jensen tastes blood too. Hands slide to grab hold again of Jensen’s hips. Jared raises him up so that his cock drags slowly out Jensen’s body, agonizingly slow, until just the tip remains inside. 

“Yes,” he hisses. “God, Jared. Fuck me. Please fuck me.” 

Jared pounds into him then. He bites, shaking his head, worrying at Jensen’s neck so that the wounds dilate, his blood not seeping now, but flowing, Jared drinking him in huge gulps as he drives himself deep. Jensen gasps, can’t get any air back into his lungs, Jared’s heavy, rhythmic thrusts forcing it back out of him every time he catches a fraction. Jared’s cock keeps pushing against that agonizingly sweet place inside, and Jensen needs to come more than he needs oxygen now.

Jared must sense Jensen’s desperation, because he rears up on his knees, tips them forward, falling together, so that Jensen’s pressed face down, holding himself up on his elbows, his ass in the air. Jared’s mouth never releases its hold on Jensen’s neck, and his tempo barely falters before kicking up a notch, harder, faster. The touch of his hand wrapping around Jensen’s stiff, neglected cock has him keening and swearing, swiveling his hips in small circles to feel Jared shudder on top of him. Jared bites him again, like a punishment, like a reward. Red heat pours through him in a torrent. The wounds on his neck feels puffy and raw, the rush of his blood is timed to the hummingbird beats of his heart. 

Jared’s hand tightens on Jensen’s dick. He jacks him with long strokes that twist at the end, strokes that Jared syncs with a fluttering suck at Jensen’s neck and—Jesus fucking Christ—Jensen screams loud enough to make the room next door call the cops as he trips over the edge. He shoots his load, hot and sticky, and Jared milks him through it. But Jared’s thrusts are becoming more and more desperate, and suddenly he freezes, driving Jensen one last time down into the mattress. His cock thickens, pumping come into Jensen, his mouth brutally hard on him, his hands skating desperate patterns along Jensen’s flanks.

They both collapse into a gasping heap, Jared rolling them onto their sides so as not to squash him, his cock still buried inside. He tends to the gashes on Jensen’s neck—murmuring his usual sugary, senseless sounds of praise and appreciation—while Jensen floats on the endorphins humming through him, the weakness of blood loss merging with the bliss of orgasm to make him lighter than air.

He moans in protest when Jared eventually pulls out, but it’s okay because he’s back moments later with a warm wash cloth, warm hands cleaning him up, the warm blankets from the foot of the bed being drawn up over them both before Jared pulls him back into his warm arms. 

“I should write the hotel chain,” Jared says conversationally, his fingers playing gently in Jensen’s hair. “Compliment them on how comfortable the beds are here.”

Jensen turns his head, nuzzles into Jared’s skin, savoring the scents of soap and sex and sweat that linger in the dusting of hair across his chest. “This is indeed a quality bed,” he agrees. “Maybe we should never leave it again.” 

“That doesn’t sound all bad.”

Jensen sighs. “I’m just trying to imagine what happens if we leave the Were to run the clubs, though.”

“A lot of severed limbs, I’m guessing,” Jared replies mildly. “We better get up, get out there, make the world a better place.” He doesn’t move a muscle.

“I do have one request before we get out this impeccable bed.”

“What’s that?” Jared asks.

“We haven’t christened this club yet,” Jensen replies with a grin. Each time they open a new _Trust_ , he lets Jared feed from him in it, right there alongside all the other patrons. It’s become a little tradition. “And it’s going to be Saturday all night.”

“God, you are insatiable,” Jared groans.

Jensen snuggles in closer under his chin. Not that he would admit to snuggling under threat of torture. “And that’s why you love me.”

“Fine. Meet me on the dance floor.”

Then it’s Jensen turn to groan.

“Three songs, max,” Jared wheedles. “Then you can drag me off into a dark corner and have your wicked way with me.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

He feels Jared place a kiss on the top of his head. “It’ll be fun.” He takes Jensen’s hand and brings it to his mouth. He shows his fangs and letting one skim across his palm so lightly it barely breaks the skin, just enough that Jared can touch his tongue to it and send a hot shiver tripping across Jensen’s nerves. “Trust me.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_reversebang working from a prompt of gorgeous art by the delightful m14mouse. Thank you for your patience with me, Mouse!
> 
> More thanks than I can express to Jensen's [woman], cherie_morte for her wonderful, wisecracking beta help. Also to my other unnamed but never forgotten beta, who carried me through this last furious week of fic-writing and without whose love and support and good advice this story would never have been finished.
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](http://s37.photobucket.com/user/deirdre_c/media/in%20blood%20we%20trust%20banner_zpseefielpy.jpg.html)  
> 


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